


Dog of the Empire

by rokosourobouros



Series: Lux Sanguinum, Nox Animorum [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Character Swap, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Blending, Canon Non-Binary Character, Canon Rewrite, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Instability, Mental Institutions, Military Homophobia, Multi, Other, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Horror, Queer Themes, Romani Character, Sibling Incest, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 50
Words: 234,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokosourobouros/pseuds/rokosourobouros
Summary: SEQUEL to Hero of the People. Read that one first!William Elric isn't particularly heroic. He's a diagnosed psychotic, semi-closeted queer, and two limbs short of a fully-flesh body - and bad-tempered to boot. But as bad as he is at heroics, making him your enemy is ten times worse - and the shadowy forces working in Amestris are about to find out just how far Will is willing to go to bring his brother home.But with war threatening the Eastern townships once more and the eyes of the Amestrian military brass upon him, how far is too far?Multiple character switch - the homunculi are written in the place of the heroes, and vice versa. (William is Envy, the Flame Alchemist is Lust, etc.)
Relationships: Envy & Lust (Fullmetal Alchemist), Envy & Wrath (Fullmetal Alchemist (2003)), Envy/Greed (Fullmetal Alchemist), Envy/Pride (Selim Bradley), Greed/Lust (Fullmetal Alchemist), Greed/Sheska | Sciezka, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Series: Lux Sanguinum, Nox Animorum [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744609
Comments: 54
Kudos: 33





	1. Leaving Song

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back, gals, guys and homunculi! First things first: this is a sequel to Hero of the People. If you haven’t read that, stop now! None of this will make any sense otherwise.
> 
> A little refresher for anybody who’s taken a break between the two – the homunculi and the heroes have been swapped, but not in a direct 1-for-1 switch. Currently, the ones we know about are:  
> Colonel Diana Solaris: Lust (both BH and 03)  
> Lieutenant Jareth Valjean/Grant Haberkorn*: Greed (both BH and 03: first Greed only)  
> William Elric: Envy (both BH and 03)  
> Alex Elric: Wrath (2003 series)  
> Selim Bradley: Selim/Pride (BH)  
> King Bradley: King/Pride (2003)/Wrath (BH)  
> Zhu Yingtai/Juliet Douglas: Sloth (2003 series)  
> Pride: Edward  
> Sloth: Winry  
> Envy: Alphonse  
> Gluttony: Scar  
> *Jareth’s old name was talked about in Chapter 34 of Hero of the People!
> 
> Also, while story tags are useful to a point, a more blanket warning is probably useful here: HOTP already dealt with some super serious topics, but this second installment absolutely ramps up the triggering material, especially in regards to treatment of the mentally ill, institutional homophobia/transphobia, abuse, and physical torture and violence. As per usual, I’ll be tagging each chapter for specific warnings – but those are some big ones to know ahead of time!
> 
> Song is by The Exies.
> 
> TWs for this chapter: parental abuse, abandonment, accidental death, anti-Rromanyism*, lack of agency/bodily consent, blood
> 
> (*”gypsies”, for the aware; that word’s considered a slur but is also still the most common term. Sighs.)
> 
> \---
> 
> As of January 28th, 2021, this section of the story is complete! A few notes, since obviously tags shift and whatnot:
> 
> -Royai is tagged for this section of the story. If you're a curious Royai fan, please note that they are playing villainous roles in this *and* that their relationship is.... uh. Complicated. And not necessarily good. It's tagged in the main section because as a story that isn't predicated on shipping, I'm sort of left drifting when it comes to the "only tag the central ships!!!!" thing. Doesn't quite work. So, if you're somebody who likes dark twisty Royai and villain AUs, you'll like it here! If you don't... eh, you have lots of choice, let the homunculi fuckers have this one. (But also you're valid and I have no gripe with you, I just don't fuck with it).   
> -A few tags have gotten added. If you're doing a reread from the beginning to catch up on the Update Bomb, please refresh your memory on them!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7uIGCP91XN8PfU8gcjtDp0?si=6fDm9bABTemGbgQgF0zcFQ Here is the playlist of all the chapter songs, with the exceptions of Six Feelings by Junichi Suwabe, Tobira no Mukou E by YelLOW Generation and King of the World by Porcelain Black/Porcelain and the Tramps.

~1~

_a fallen angel selling secrets we can steal  
while brushing off the rust  
we'll go insane…  
so, come down with me  
it's time to leave_

**_-Leaving Song_ **

_Somewhere in the West, 1901_

It was hours after sunset over Redwick Bush, and Maes Hughes rolled another cigarette on his knee, trying not to worry. Grant was late. That in itself wasn’t unusual – Grant took the same approach to punctuality as he did most other things, which was something along the lines of _round to the nearest something and don’t worry about it –_ but not tonight. Grant wasn’t going to be late tonight, unless something had stopped him.

Still, he wasn’t going to start panicking yet. He’d told his dad that they might have another passenger tomorrow, and he hadn’t asked too many questions, but it was more trouble than it was worth to be seen actually _in_ Redwick Bush. People were nervous enough around travelers when they stayed right where they were put.

And yet…

And yet he was tempted. Grant had told him everything would be fine. He’d trusted him, but he didn’t think Mordred was likely to let his son go without a fight.

A few minutes later, finally, Maes saw a figure stumbling across the dark field. He could always tell when it was Grant; anybody who got that tall that quickly had a couple years of awkward legginess before knowing exactly where to put their limbs, and Grant hadn’t outgrown it yet. But he was stumbling a little _more_ than usual –

Maes lifted the oil lamp from its spot on the fence next to him. Grant wasn’t just stumbling. He was hurt.

He hopped off the fence, putting his hands on Grant’s shoulders. “Hey, buddy, what happened?”

Grant brushed some of his shaggy black hair out of his face. “Nothing,” he said unconvincingly.

Maes raised his fingers to Grant’s face, and the fresh bruise blackening his eye.

“Don’t – don’t worry about it. I gotta get out of here.”

“What, now? We leave in the morning-“

But Grant could barely hear him. Instead, the taller boy leaned on the fence, struggling to catch his breath. “I gotta leave now, or they’ll find me, they’ll _know-_ “

“ _Grant._ ”

“What?” Grant snapped, purple eyes flashing as he glared up at Maes. There were tearstains running down his dirt-smeared face, although Maes knew he might get hit if he pointed them out.

“What happened?” Maes asked again. “You were not freaking this bad earlier.”

“I –“ Grant ran his hands through his hair again, and it stuck up in clumps around his face. “You got anything to drink?”

“What do you take me for?” Maes produced a silver flask from his pocket – then watched on in concern as Grant promptly drained the whole thing. “That was _vodka._ ”

“Yeah.” Grant wiped his mouth. “Thanks.”

“You’re buying me more. After you tell me why you look like the bobbies are after-“

Grant gave Maes a desperate, helpless look.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Grant, what did you do?”

“He started it,” he responded glumly. “I just – I was packing. And he saw me, and started yelling, his usual crap.” Grant moved uncomfortably, like he was scratching an itch on his back without touching it. “Said he wouldn’t let me go. So I just yelled back. And he shoved me so I… I shoved him.” Grant chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Down the stairs.”

“Shit. Is he –“

“Oh yeah.” Grant started laughing, a horrid hysterical laughter that set Maes’s teeth on edge. “ _Ohh_ yeah.”

Maes lowered his lamp. The stains he’d taken for dirt on Grant’s shirt and trousers were a dark red.

“You know what that bastard said to me? After _all_ this time? _I forgive you._ Like he’s the one to hand out any fucking – forgiveness –“ Grant winced, rubbing at his shoulder.

“Okay. Okay, um. First things first. You got all your shit? Nothing left to go back for?”

“Yeah. That and some stuff from his desk. If I’m gonna find my mom, I need that.”

“Sure, sure.” Maes was trying to go through everything in his head. “Chances are nobody will even check for a few days –“

Grant made a strangled noise at that, and Maes gave his friend’s hand a pat. He didn’t mean to be so straight-to-the-point, but they were on some degree of borrowed time.

“You have to get changed.”

“Wh-“ Grant looked down at himself, eyes glazing over slightly. “Right. Right, yeah. Can’t I do it inside your caravan?”

“You’re not tracking that into my vardo.”

“Right. Mocha, mokka-“

“Mokkadi. We’re burning those.”

Then it seemed to actually process what Maes was asking from him, and the colour drained from Grant’s face. “No, no, I can’t, I can’t-“

“Can’t what?”

Grant clutched at the shoulders of his shirt, terrified. Maes tried not to sigh in frustration. “Grant, I’ve seen you shirtless a million times. And if it’s more bruises-“

“Not bruises. No.” Grant couldn’t meet his eyes.

Maes put the lamp back down on the fencepost. “What is it? You can’t be hiding shit from me, Grant, do you know how dangerous this already is for us to pick up a gadje kid?”

“I know,” Grant mumbled miserably. “I know, I just… Fine.”

He turned around, back to Maes, then slowly, painfully, pulled his shirt over his head.

It wasn’t bruises. It was much, much worse than that. Maes’s eyes travelled across the expanse of Grant’s back which – as recently as a few weeks ago – had been normal, unmarked skin. Now, a massive, multicoloured tattoo stretched from shoulder to shoulder, disappearing down just past the waistband of his slacks. Not just a tattoo; that would have been bad enough. But Maes knew an alchemy array when he saw one.

“When did-“ Maes’s mouth had gone dry. How much had this _hurt?_

“Two weeks ago. Something like that.”

Grant had vanished for a week, two weeks ago.. Then he’d reappeared, begging Maes to let him go with the travellers when they left. Two weeks was barely enough time for the tattoo to heal.

How much pain was Grant _in?_

Maes nodded quietly. “I’ll get you some clothes from inside. Hold on a tick.”

“Alright.”

He stepped into the vardo and grabbed some of his dad’s clothes, then paused. His hands were shaking, he realized. He’d thought he’d reached his limit of hatred for Mordred Haberkorn. Apparently not.

But it’d be okay. And Grant had other family…somewhere. Maes had seen the photo before. A battered family photo with Grant and another girl, their mother looking strangely peaceful even though one could only guess what Mordred had done to her behind closed doors.

Grant didn’t remember his sister, or his mother. They’d left at some point when he was a baby – that was what he’d told Maes two weeks ago, as part of his desperate request.

_I’ll find them. I can stay with them, instead of here._

He hadn’t said it out loud, and Maes wasn’t going to bring it up – but it sat between them anyway, the real reason Grant wanted to find his mother so badly. Maes knew Grant well enough for that.

He wanted to know why she hadn’t taken him away, too.


	2. Melting Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: blood, violence, discussed character death, discussed suicide baiting, mild eye trauma, suicidal ideation, guns, nudity (hehehe), mental illness, sexism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh playing with Jareth and Diana is so fuuuun. My babies. I love them.
> 
> Medical note: If you get somebody else’s blood in your mouth that’s generally a bad thing. Will and co. just have other things on their mind.
> 
> Song is by Ladytron.

~2~

_Running up the coast  
I walk through a mirror and out of your ghost  
Hide you not seek you or flee here I must  
Before you can melt down my iceberg of trust_

**_-Melting Ice_ **

Diana had just put on her coffee and started to think about work when the knock sounded at her door. She could recognize people by their knocks, usually – albeit usually on her office door. Will, for example, rarely bothered. Jareth usually did three very lazy ones and walked in half a second later. Maes did the ‘shave and a haircut’ rhythm just to drive her batty.

The heavy, repeated knocks at her door, however –

Diana slipped her gloves on, and opened the door to her apartment with more trepidation than was possibly deserved. Then she threw it open the rest of the way in startled shock.

Jareth lowered his fist with a face like thunder, Will in his arms. “Di. We got a problem.”

Will pushed on Jareth’s chest. “You can put me _down._ I’m-“

“If you say _fine,_ Will, I will knock you out my damn self.”

“Fucking try me.”

“Don’t push your luck.”

Diana didn’t trust her voice, so she just jerked her head towards the apartment interior, stepping aside. The moment Jareth was inside, she turned the lock and pulled down the drapes. “What in the _blazes_ happened?” She looked over the two of them – Jareth’s mouth and chin covered in blood, Will even more bruised than before, and-

“Where’s Ale-“

Jareth’s glare shut her up and told her that something had gone very, _very_ wrong, more than the rest of the picture had said. Will finally managed to fight his way out of Jareth’s grip, standing up on feet that threatened to give out under him.

“They took Alex. They took him. I-“

“ _You,_ ” Diana pronounced, “are going to sit down before you fall over.”

Will glared at her, then half-collapsed on one of the chairs with a wince of pain, keeping his back away from the fabric. He looked probably the worst she’d ever seen him, hands and arms stained with red, more of it dripping down his chin, his already-extensive collection of bruises spreading down his neck and shoulders –

She couldn’t see that many actual _cuts._

“Will,” she said cautiously, “please tell me that’s your blood.”

He paled, and avoided her eyes.

“Sergeant Denny Brosh is dead,” Jareth filled in for her. “And we have –“ he cleared his throat. “Dr. Julian Holland is an enemy of the state. I hope,” he added in an undertone.

Dr. –

Oh, _fuck._

She squatted down in front of Will, taking his chin gently in her hands to try get a look at his injuries, but he batted her hand away. “I’m fine.”

“ _Will._ ”

“Oh, what, I’m Will today instead of Fullmetal-“

“Stop it,” she snapped. He shut up, still glaring at her with bright eyes. A blood vessel had burst in one of them, and she sighed, grabbing one of her abandoned dishcloths from the table and wiping the blood off his lips. There was some on his teeth too, and he put up patiently with her for about ten seconds before jerking his head away again.

“I’m trying to see if there’s any more serious damage, Will, not wiping your – hold on, did you –“ Diana suppressed a small laugh. “Will, you’re not bleeding. Did you _bite_ somebody?”

“…Maybe.” At her raised eyebrow, he caved. “Yeah. Fucker deserved it.”

“Was it Holland?”

“…yeah.”

“You know, I’ve joked about you biting your therapists before, but I never thought you’d actually be justified.”

“ _Nyeh._ ” He stuck his tongue out at her, an exhausted motion that still told her the joke had had the desired effect.

She couldn’t do much about his eyes. “I have a shower if you want to use it. Jareth can catch me up on what’s going on.”

Will stiffened at that – imperceptibly, if she hadn’t been so close to him. “You sure?”

“You don’t have to pretend this doesn’t hurt like hell. I’m not a nurse, I’m not going to lecture you.”

“You’re _good_ at that, though.”

“I’ll put one together just for you later, then.”

She nodded to the bathroom door, and then once Will got up – “Okay, no, hold on _one_ moment.”

“I am not standing there while you pull the fucking glass from my back,” Will growled.

“So that’s what that is. And yes, you are, because if that ends up in your bloodstream you’re in a whole world of trouble.”

Will rolled his eyes – rather dramatically, she thought – and she made him stand still while she sought out the biggest pieces. Luckily they’d all missed his spine. She grabbed one – and pulled.

“- _MOTHERFUCKER-_ “

“Oh, be quiet.”

“I thought you said I could stop pretending it didn’t hurt!”

“ _Quietly,_ Will. You can stop pretending _quietly._ ”

Will bit his lip and managed for the next few pieces, and once she’d gotten the big ones out, she took pity on him. “There. Now I don’t feel like you’re going to sever an artery. Go get washed up.”

“Yes, _ma’am,_ ” he snarked, or tried to – it came out a little more genuinely than he’d probably intended. That was starting to be a habit with him.

Diana waited until she could hear the shower running, satisfied that he wasn’t listening in. Then she turned to Jareth, panic rising in her throat. “What. Happened.”

Jareth sat miserably down on the chair Will had just vacated, and Diana felt her heart sink. She hadn’t seen him this defeated in a long time, and she sat down on the low coffee-table across from him, setting the glass pieces carefully on the wood behind her. “Jareth.”

“They, uh – Will and Alex – had a fight. Bad one. And you know, I didn’t think anything about it at first but…” He pressed the balls of his hands to his eyes, then rubbed them up his forehead. “Little one starts yelling about being terrified of Will and how if he was –“

“Was what?”

Jareth glanced up at her. “…Diana, correct me if I’m wrong here. But if I told you that Alex basically told Will to hurry up and kill himself, would you believe me?”

Diana pressed the back of her hand to her mouth to suppress the startled, horrified noise.

“Somebody _else_ has been talking to him,” Jareth seethed. “Got that much from walking in on Will and Holland.”

“To Alex? How is that –“ Diana closed her eyes. “They got separated at the lab?”

“A few times before, too.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Oh, he’s got _nothing_ to do with this.”

Diana exhaled, trying to calm the sudden rabbit’s pace of her heart. Alex _wasn’t_ that cruel. He wasn’t. Not on his own.

“Kid left. Will went out after him, and I figured I’d go look for him just in case. Will wasn’t exactly thinking straight.”

“No shit.”

“Told Maes to keep an eye out, too, just in case Alex came back.”

Diana gestured at Jareth to slow down. “Wait, hold on. He’s five inches tall. How far could he possibly get?”

Jareth sucked on his teeth for a moment. “Guess _which_ little genius kept a Red Stone.”

Diana paused, catching up. Then – “I’m gonna kill him-“ She was halfway to her feet, but Jareth yanked on her sleeve, pulling her back down.

“He’s been through enough. Not like we haven’t done worse. And it wasn’t a _terrible_ idea. He wasn’t the one that _used_ it.”

“Great. So Alex is what, underground? Could be anywhere?”

“He’s with whoever beat the shit out of Will in the lab. _And_ just now.” Jareth wiped some of the blood off his mouth. “Ugh.”

“What are you dodging around saying, Jareth?”

He took his sunglasses off, cleaning them on his shirt. “The Beast, or Ishvalan, or whatever we’re calling him. He’s _not_ the only one.”

Diana felt her heart drop into her boots. “You’re _joking._ ”

“Nope.”

“So there’s another one of those things-?”

Jareth shrugged. “Maybe? I don’t know, but it certainly does the same rising-from-the-dead bit that gave y’ nightmares first time round. It. He. Whatever. Pronouns are garbo.”

“Focus.” Diana took hold of Jareth’s chin. “This thing. Holland?”

“Yeah. Shapeshifter.”

“Sh – _what?_ ” Diana dropped his chin. “Please tell me you’ve been drinking. Or this is some sort of elaborate prank.”

“Shit, you know me better than that. I’m telling you. I went through the door in time to see the fucker change shape, then he did it again when I had a gun to his head. Killed the Sergeant long before I got there.”

“A shapeshifter.” Diana got to her feet, worrying at one of her nails through her glove – then started smacking herself on the forehead. “Stupid, stupid, _stupid!_ ”

“Woah, hey, stop that-“ Jareth grabbed her wrists.

“That’s what he was freaking out about! He asked me to prove who I was – oh, I’m so _stupid!_ ”

Jareth raised an eyebrow. “For…not guessing at a completely bollocks answer out of a pulp novel?”

“I – well –“ She blew a stray hair out of her face. “Fine. But, god, that… makes a lot of sense. And you’re _absolutely sure._ ”

“Clear as a bell. Unless Will’s hallucinations are catching.”

“His therapist.” Diana was seized with the sudden urge to cry. “Who _are_ these people?”

“Fucked if I know, but I promised him we’d get Alex back.”

“ _Jareth._ ”

He met her steady gaze with eyes like fire. “You know as well as I do this is our fault.”

“What-“ She tried not to go on the defense, but she felt her fingers digging into her arm anyway. “I don’t see what this has to do with _us._ ”

“What it- bloody _hell,_ Diana. They’re kids. They’re just kids. We should have –“

“Should have done what? Babysat them? Made Will feel even more watched and controlled than he already does?” Diana could hear the clipped tone coming into her voice, but she could no more control it than she could control the way her spine straightened or how her heart was pounding against her ribs. “I’m his superior, not his mother-“

“He’s got _no one else!_ ”

Diana paused, looked down at Jareth, at the tension in his face and his steepled hands, the way his hair was falling into his face, spikes disappeared in the rain. Then she sighed, forcing the tension out of at least _some_ of her body. “Okay. Okay. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking a shapeshifter is a _massive_ security risk.” That wasn’t all he was thinking – she could read him like a book even on his better days, and this wasn’t one of them – but it was a start. “So we need some way to identify each other.”

“Right. Well, that depends what kind of team we’re going for. How deep do you think this goes?”

“I don’t know, but Dr. Holland was Will’s doctor for _three years._ That’s not a small thing. Either this shapeshifter was a late replacement, or…”

Diana closed her eyes. Even though she’d been airing a very similar theory to Maes only a few days earlier, it was difficult how _easy_ it was to believe that they were fighting against another branch of their own military. She served her country. That didn’t mean she trusted it. “Or at least one higher-up is aware of its existence. It’s _possible_ that the shapeshifter is a perfect chameleon but I have my doubts.”

“I mean, who knows, maybe Will annoyed him into dropping the disguise.”

She snorted despite herself. “I – god, I shouldn’t laugh, but is it bad that that sounds possible?”

Jareth snickered, then grimaced. “Uh. You’re not gonna like me for this.”

“What?”

“There’s one way to secure identities against a shapeshifter, with a small enough group.” He looked up at her. “Secrets.”

Her gaze went as cold as she could make it. “You had better not mean what I think you mean.”

“It’d _work._ I only want Maes involved otherwise. Will’s the only one we’d have to tell.”

“No.”

“At least consider it. I –“ He reached for his holster. “Oh, bollocks.”

“What _now?_ Haven’t you turned my day into enough chaos?”

Jareth rubbed his temples. “…Apparently not.” He indicated the empty holster. “Can’t blame him. But if I get shot, please make sure they use a _really_ hot photo for the memorial.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“Good. That means I survive.”

* * *

The Lieutenant’s standard-issue Browning pistol lay on the side of the counter closest to the shower, and Will was doing his level best to ignore it. He’d gotten his shirt off, the last few pieces of glass coming out with the fabric, and now he stood in the hot water, pushing it a little bit hotter every few minutes, watching both the green dye from his hair and the blood from his injuries stream down the drain. Usually the dye held a little better, but usually he didn’t run his showers this hot. It hurt. Which was the point, really.

His doctor had been a fake. His brother had turned on him. Now here he was in his superior officer’s _shower,_ waiting for the next inevitable betrayal.

He glanced up at the shower rack – then tried not to smirk. Well, all things being equal, he could bully the Colonel for using sandalwood-scented shampoo.

God. Everything _hurt._ He’d looked in the mirror on the way in and that had been a _mistake._ He hadn’t even taken off his skort for dread of what his tailbone or groin looked like; that and…

He eyed the gun despite himself. A small part of him was tempted to use it on himself. Easy, right? Bam, over, all this mess was somebody else’s problem. But more importantly, he wasn’t convinced he was safe here. Pride could be anybody. Pride could be anywhere. He’d suspected it after the lab, but-

A knock sounded at the door. “Oy. I know you took my gun.”

Will snorted. It’d taken Jareth long enough to notice. He didn’t respond, but when the door clicked open, he snatched the pistol up from the counter, pointed at the half-open door.

Jareth paused in the doorway, glancing between Will’s face and the gun. “…Alright. Okay. So that’s where we’re at.”

“I’m not gonna shoot you,” Will said in what was probably his most unconvincing, flat voice to date. He meant it, though. He just… had to be sure. He needed Jareth to keep his distance until he _was_ sure.

“I should hope not. I’m too cute to die.”

Will found himself smiling at that despite himself, and covered his mouth with his hand. _Pride could be anyone,_ he reminded himself. He couldn’t get comfortable. Not yet. Even if the Jareth who had saved him was real, he’d taken his eyes off of him – he _could not be sure,_ and as long as he kept reminding himself of that-

“If you’re worried about what I can see, by the way, the counter’s coverin’ everything important.” Even though it was reassuring, Jareth clearly couldn’t resist the impish smirk.

Oh god. Oh god, Will’s brain hadn’t even gotten that far. Most of him was too tired to care.

…

Most of him.

He discreetly turned the shower knob to cold, and bit his lip at the sudden change in temperature, wavering slightly on his feet. He hadn’t thought that one through. And if he _dropped_ the gun, he’d never regain his dignity. But the icy water hammering down on his head and shoulders helped his focus. He wasn’t going to do anything stupid this time.

…stupider than stealing Jareth’s gun to begin with, anyway.

Jareth closed the door behind him, and leant against the wall next to it. Will noticed – and appreciated – that he’d left the actual doorway clear as much as possible. But –

_Pride could be anyone._

He found himself checking the details of Jareth’s face the same way he had with Holland, not that that had done him any good last time. And if Jareth had been a shapeshifter the whole time, he was absolutely _screwed._ How many were there? Just one? More?

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” the other man said suddenly, and Will nearly _did_ drop the gun. He’d almost forgotten he had a loaded gun pointed at him. That wasn’t a good thing to forget. He really was out of it.

He fumbled his words for a moment, the _need_ for it to be the real thing, for him to be genuine, warring with the fear that had never really left him, but was now dialed up from a background buzz to constant, overwhelming static. When Alex was here, he could work through the noise. Without him- “I – how do I know who you are?”

Jareth smiled, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Ask me anything.”

“Wh-when did we meet?” It was the first thing he could think of.

“Technically? When you were eleven. You mostly talked to Di, though.” Jareth scratched the nape of his neck. “Actual first meeting? You were twelve, you woke up in a hospital bed and called my hair stupid.”

“It _is_ stupid,” Will grumbled defensively. “Didn’t you call me a bitch? Or a tramp?”

“Both. Not my best moment.”

Will snorted, trying to feel offended and not quite managing it. “I’ve been called worse. _Without_ deserving it.” He wanted to lower the gun, but he couldn’t quite manage it. People could learn these things. This wasn’t a secret. And he couldn’t help it – his eyes dropped to Jareth’s lips –

Jareth must have been thinking the same thing. In a softer voice, he added, “If that’s not enough for you, I also rescued your skinny ass from your first drunken bender a week ago and gave you your first kiss so you didn’t waste it.”

“Like you care,” Will blustered. But he lowered the gun, wondering what Jareth would have considered a wasted first kiss. He pressed it to his thigh, the temptation of the void coming back-

“Uh-uh. On the counter, Will.”

“ _Fine._ I’m not gonna hurt myself.” He tried not to sound relieved. He didn’t _want_ to die. And it was embarrassing to have people not trust him around weapons, but it meant he didn’t have to fight the impulses on his own.

“I’d rather be sure.”

Will rolled his eyes, but pushed the gun across the counter into Jareth’s waiting hand. “I suppose the Colonel has all sorts of attitude for me.” He avoided what he wanted to ask – how much Jareth actually _knew_ about his attempts, and how much he’d intimated through context. Asking meant offering. And the last thing he actually wanted to do was talk about it.

“I don’t know why you think she hates you.”

“Because she does.”

Jareth seemed ready to argue that point, but then just shook his head. “…Your dye’s coming out.”

“I know. I’ll fix it later.”

“Alright. Maes’ll be here in a few minutes when you’re done.”

Will paused at that. He’d known Hughes was friends with Solaris and Ja – Valjean, but the last few days had shown it was far more than the casual friendship than he’d thought it was. Then again, he’d thought he and Jareth had a contentious acquaintanceship at _best._

Maybe he was just bad at understanding people and how they related to each other. That was-

_-I am so sick of your bullshit-_

-entirely possible. Yeah.

Will squeezed the last lingering bits of dye out of his hair and turned the shower heat back up, just a little. Fantasies were fine. Fantasies didn’t hurt anybody. He could think what he wanted, here where nobody could see him, and that was fine, that was safe-

And besides… counter or no counter, he still thought he looked pretty cute half-naked. So there _was_ that.

* * *

Youswell had been a strikeout for Lyra Yoki, who was _seriously_ debating changing her last name to something a little more intimidating; as it turned out, redemption was like, hard or something. Whatever. She was over it. It had been a nice idea, but getting side-eyed every time she went into the corner store had been too much to take.

However, putting up with a pint-size princess’s inane chatter twenty-four-seven…

“Chang, if you get distracted one more time, I am leaving you _behind,_ ” Lyra threatened.

“I wasn’t distracted! Fletcher was showing me how Amestrian alchemy works.”

“I don’t think I’m doing a very good job,” Fletcher laughed sheepishly. “I work with plants, it’s not exactly _standard._ ”

Lyra sighed, reminding herself not to lose her temper. _I could just blow them both up and hang their tiny, bothersome asses in the trees. Go find a teacher on my own._ But she knew herself better than that. She’d get bored and start talking to herself within hours, and besides, having attention that wasn’t comprised of wary, judgmental looks and a few lusty leers was a nice change.

“Do you two _want_ to spend the night in the woods? Because if we don’t reach Cameron by nightfall-“

“Oh, _fine,_ ” the princess sighed, and started walking again. Lyra was tempted to see how far she could toss her.

Asleep, the little girl – fourteen, apparently, not that Lyra bought it – had been fine. Kind of cute, honestly, with big chubby cheeks and a weird cat-bear thing that had kept careful watch over her while she slept.

And then, of course, she’d woken up. Started apologizing to everybody for being so much trouble, which Lyra saw _right_ through. And then, the kicker: she was a princess. Supposedly. Of Xing.

Bullshit. She was probably some runaway political rival. But she was definitely Xingese, and _definitely_ up to something, and Lyra liked a good trainwreck almost as much as she liked money. So she’d let her come along with her and Fletcher in search of an alchemy teacher, and now she was deeply regretting every choice that had led her here.

Redemption was, frankly, hardly worth it. Especially as she watched Princess Mei and Fletcher start chatting _again_ about plants and something about a dragon, about an inch away from holding hands. Disgusting.

“What kind of alchemy teacher do _you_ want, Lyra?”

She started, looking up. Mei was –

-asking _her._ Which she didn’t know how to feel about. “Um… I don’t actually know. I can-“ She was _not_ going to admit how new to alchemy she really was. “I want to learn things properly. I sort of… taught myself.”

“Really?”

Lyra narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out if Mei was judging her or not. But no, that looked like a pretty sincere expression – so she shrugged. “Girls aren’t really encouraged to learn alchemy. And Dad had his own stuff to worry about.”

“They aren’t?”

She tried not to laugh at Fletcher, who looked so startled she wanted to push his eyebrows back down to the right place on his forehead. “No, it’s a _boy thing_ or whatever.”

“Isn’t there a female State Alchemist, though?” he asked.

“Yeah, _one._ She’s pretty hardcore, though.” Lyra grinned. “My dad calls her a bitch a lot. Which probably just means she’s cool as _hell._ ”

“I only know about one State Alchemist,” Mei sighed. “And I don’t even know if he’s _real._ They were talking a bit about him at the inn before we left, though, and he sounds…” She started to blush. “So _heroic._ ”

Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh _dear._ Lyra managed to keep a straight face. “Oh, uh, which one is that?”

“The Fullmetal Alchemist! William Elric. He sounds so _dashing!”_ Mei blushed even darker, clutching her hands to her face. “I bet he’s tall and handsome, and – and has a rose in his lapel, and-“

“William Elric.”

“Mhm!”

“The Fullmetal Alchemist.”

“Yeah!”

“Dashing, handsome and roses?”

Mei nodded excitedly. Lyra thought to herself that she might love trainwrecks, but as far as trainwrecks went, this was going to be a chart-topper.

“Come on, pint-size. Keep walking.”

As Mei headed off along the forest path, Fletcher looked up at Lyra with narrowed eyes. “Why do I have the feeling you’re cackling like a witch on a broom internally?”

Lyra pressed a hand to her chest. “You injure me, Fletcher. I would _never_ ride a broom. That just seems uncomfortable.” When he just crossed his arms, she rolled her eyes. “Do _you_ wanna tell her?”

Fletcher seemed to accept that as an answer. Lyra just hoped Mei didn’t ask anybody _else_ they met about the Fullmetal Alchemist. Literally anybody else in Amestris would be ready to burst that particular bubble. She wasn’t sure how Elric would take it if the princess ever actually _met_ him-

-but, eh. He had it coming.


	3. Dirty Little Secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >//>
> 
> Alright, yeah, I kept dodging around it, but given how Will’s sexuality is developing, it is impossible to COMPLETELY avoid the topic. There will not be any outright smut in-story – I’m not fond of writing it – but DOTE is earning its new M rating early.
> 
> Glossary:
> 
> Malmulto: ‘little’/little one’ – Esperanto with a Romanes ending, in-universe part of the ciganoj language which is used (in different dialects) by all travelers
> 
> Ciganino/ciganoj: lit. ‘gypsies’ in Esperanto; in-universe, the term that is used for travelers. It sits just north of being a slur; many ciganoj are very particular about being referred to as their specific group or the Amestrian word ‘travelers’ – even though the word ciganino is from the Romanes language, it is also the one used to discriminate against ciganoj/ciganos across Amestris and in other countries like Creta, Drachma and Aerugo.
> 
> Sveyati: Not a real word, but intentionally Slavic. Here, meaning a branch of Old Drachman religion that…. Definitely isn’t Catholicism. 100%. (The words related to it in existing Slavic languages all mean ‘holy’.)
> 
> Viatjo/Viatjes: Taken from Catalan but in-universe is a specific branch of ciganoj that originally lived in the South of Amestris and after new draconian laws started being implemented, started drifting West. (Much in the same way that Kalderash and Sinti are groups of Romani IRL.)
> 
> RE: a particular reveal… uh, if you’re surprised, I don’t know what to tell you. Haha. But also please don’t hit me I have been tagging it for a reason. And hopefully the conversation/in-context makes it clear that I’m not throwing it in for shits and giggles.
> 
> TW: injury/wounds, anti-Rromanyism discussed, internalized racism, religious extremism referenced, cheating, sibling incest

~3~

_Tell me all that you’ve thrown away  
Find out games you don’t wanna play  
You are the only one that needs to know_

**_-Dirty Little Secret_ **

He was in a shower. Or at least, he thought he was – he could feel the water dripping down his back, the warmth coaxing the tension out of his muscles. Everything _hurt._ And one of his arms was so heavy he could barely lift it-

It hurt, but the pain felt good, too, in a weird way. He hated it, but it lit his nerves on fire, and one of his hands crept downwards –

- _yeah,_ yeah, that was what he needed, a burst of pleasure against the pain in his back and face, the kind of thing where you didn’t have to think at all. He steadied himself against the shower wall, fingers tight around himself, but he couldn’t feel the shower wall, of course he couldn’t, because-

-because the hand against the wall was _metal,_ and this wasn’t his body at all.

Selim Bradley started awake with a flush on his cheeks and sweat building on his forehead.

“I see you’ve finally decided to rejoin us,” came the soft Eastern drawl from next to his bed. “Gave us a scare there.”

He sat up suddenly, still trying to reorient himself with the world, then checked both his hands. Flesh. Okay. So either that had been the weirdest wet dream ever, or-

- _or I’m in trouble,_ he thought quietly.

Then the words processed, and he looked over at Pinako Rockbell, who was chewing on her unlit pipe and waiting for his response.

“I… what happened? I don’t…” He remembered getting on the train from Central. That god-awful train ride from hell. He’d passed most of it rewriting his fight with Will in his head, then by scribbling new automail designs on the back of his notebook, and finally by sleeping. He’d _gotten_ to Rizenbul. And then…

“You passed out at the station. After coughing up an _alarming_ amount of blood.” Pinako lowered her pipe, eyeing him with both suspicion and concern. “What _did_ you get up to in Central?”

“N-nothing-“

“Don’t bullshit me, malmulto. William was rather concerned for you on the phone.”

_Right._

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Selim grumbled – then yelped in pain as Pinako smacked the back of his hand with her pipe. “ _Ow!_ ” He flexed his hand, pulling a face. “What was _that_ for?”

“You’ve been unconscious for a day and a half and coughed up blood, after _running away_ on your father.” Pinako narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t care how much you hate me. King deserves better than that.”

Selim glanced away from her, chewing on the inside of his cheek in irritation. He hadn’t _meant_ to disappear with no word. He was going to call from Central, or Koberfeld, whenever he had the time-

-he’d just... never found it. He’d been so preoccupied with the adventure and the thrill of it.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“That’s a good start. Although it’s not me you need to be apologizing to.”

“Where _is_ Dad?”

“Chatting with one of your uncles. You’re lucky we found you when we did. I was ready to call the entire Eastern ciganino population after you.”

“Ugh.” Selim rested his cheek on his hand, trying not to sulk _too_ obviously. “I swear I’m…” He was going to say fine.

Then he realized that, while the pleasure had been left in the dream, the pain _hadn’t._

“Pinako, what’s wrong with me?” he asked, suddenly nervous.

“We were hoping _you_ would tell us. Will insisted you weren’t badly injured, just knocked unconscious – but you’ve got cuts all over your back and I don’t know _what_ you did to your eye.”

“My eye?”

PInako raised an eyebrow, then offered him a mirror. He stared into it, uncomprehending. One of the blood vessels in his eye had burst, turning half of it a ghastly red. There was a scab forming on his eyebrow. He hadn’t been injured like this before he’d left. He – he _hadn’t._

He thought about his dream again. Then he thought about the years he’d spent accepting bizarre shots of pain, phantom injuries from afar, as Will’s stupid, unconscious way of letting Selim know he was alive. Those were just ghosts, though. He’d never actually been _hurt_ before. That wasn’t how that worked.

_How what works, Selim? Face it. You have no clue what’s wrong with you. You don’t even know if Will feels the same things, or if you’re just a freak of nature._

“Something to add?”

“N-no. I just… I don’t know.” He put the mirror down. “Which uncle is it?”

“Ambrose. He’ll be off again soon – we left the details out, just let him know you were home safe.”

Selim exhaled in gratitude. He loved his mother’s side of the family, but they were… odd. They were always moving around, travelling in carts, and spoke in fast, glib voices in a dialect he could only half understand. He supposed he probably should put more effort into knowing them, but honestly, the only one of them who did automail never visited, and the rest of them were tinkers and traders. He didn’t have much in common with them. “Thanks. I don’t need every Faber in a hundred miles deciding I need, I don’t know, an apple basket or something.”

“You should be a little more respectful. You’re ciganoj too, whether you like it or not.”

“Like it matters. I’m not going to start selling automail out of a wagon.”

Pinako seemed about to say something else, then shrugged. “Alright. Your call. Now you better start working on your apology to your father.”

A half-conscious memory tugged at Selim’s consciousness. “…You, um, you knew Will and Alex’s dad when he lived here, right?”

She paused mid-step. “I did, yes. Why?”

“Just… just wondering.”

Pinako accepted that, although he could see her measuring him up with those steady eyes of hers. Then she left him alone with his own thoughts – or at least, as alone as he ever was.

* * *

When Will finally left Solaris’s bathroom, he’d made a few changes. He loved his green hair, he _did,_ but… he was getting a little tired of being noticeable enough to pick out of a crowd. Holland had complimented him on it, pointed out that the easiest way to escape the inevitability of being a ‘freak’ was to lean into it, own it, turn all the weapons into armour –

Well, fuck Holland. For all Will knew, Holland had only told him that to make it easier to isolate him, cast him even _more_ as an asshole to Alex. Alex, who’d been dumb enough to fall for it.

_That doesn’t sound right, and you know it doesn’t._

He knew that consciously. But it still meant that by the time he joined Hughes, Solaris and Valjean out in the main room of Diana’s apartment, he felt like a different person. He was used to having his stomach exposed, so he’d kept that, but he’d ditched the skirt in favour of leggings that covered his automail and long sleeves on his shirt that did the same for his arm, blending in with what had been his fingerless gloves. That was the nice thing about alchemy. No seamstress needed. And his hair –

-well, okay, he was still sticking out a _little._ But he’d found purple-dyed bath salts in Solaris’s cupboard, and dark purple was a tiny bit less weird than green. Or something. Whatever. Of course, he’d then realized that the all-black outfit looked too much like the Lab 5 freaks for comfort, and added some red lacing to the sides of the leggings, and he was mostly back where he’d started.

At least he wasn’t wearing that horrendous Amestris uniform.

Still, it meant he felt a little less vulnerable, and the half-amused, half-impressed look Maes gave him when he came out to join them made it worth it. “Hair matching the bruises? That’s hardcore.”

Will couldn’t help the little grin. He’d wondered if anybody would notice that. But the smile faded as he sat down on one of the chairs, looking between Jareth and Maes on the couch and Diana still standing by the counter. They’d been talking about him. He hated it when people were talking about him.

“Di and Jareth caught me up on most of what happened, and I’ve sent a team to Holland’s apartment to secure the area and take care of the Sergeant.” Maes shook his head. “He was a good guy. I don’t know how he got caught up in this.”

Will chewed on the inside of his cheek. “He was in the way. I don’t think he did anything. Pride just… needed a convenient place.”

“Pride?”

This part he hadn’t told any of them, and he felt the panic start to ignite in his chest. “I, um – there’s at least two of them other than the Ishvalan. Pride and Sloth.”

Maes hummed quietly to himself. “Well, I’m already sensing a theme. I don’t – which religion is that, Di?”

It was Jareth who responded with a snort. “Old Drachman. _Sveyati_ , or whatever it’s actually called. It hasn’t been practiced within Amestrian borders – _legally –_ for centuries.”

“Legally?”

Jareth crossed his legs, ankle resting on his knee. “Legally, Amestris is a secular state. It’s why the Ishvalans and the Liorans are in so much trouble.”

“The Liorans?” Will felt himself getting nervous. “They weren’t – I mean, with Cornello gone, they aren’t hurting anybody.”

Diana cast Jareth a stony glare, and Jareth changed the topic. Will noticed, and filed that away as ‘something to interrogate the Colonel about later’. “Point is, the seven sins thing is Drachman, but _old._ I think modern Drachma is a little less hardcore about it. So we might be dealing with religious nuts.”

Will thought about Pride and Sloth. He couldn’t see them as religious nuts somehow. “I don’t… think so? Besides, that doesn’t explain what they can do.”

“True. Still, means there’s probably another five of those fuckers.”

“Four,” Hughes corrected, “if the Beast is one of them.”

“Sorry, rewind. Why do you know so much about Drachman religion?” Will asked, trying not to sound so confused.

Jareth laughed, tugging on his ear. “You, uh, pick up some weird shit when you live near the Creta/Drachma border. Hell of a thing to show up _here,_ though. Alright, so there’s Pride and Sloth. Pride is the fucker I shot. Sloth is-“

Will pulled a face. “Looks about twelve, can make copies of herself.”

“ _Bull_ shit.” Hughes couldn’t help himself, clearly, but Will was tempted to chuck something at him anyway. “You’re serious.”

“Deadly,” he grumbled. He didn’t really want to go into any more detail about what had actually _happened_ at Lab 5. Luckily, the conversation didn’t seem to be going that direction.

“Alright, so, here’s what we’re faced with.” Solaris crossed her arms, her face steely and determined. “We don’t know where these people came from, or who or what they are. Alchemy experiments gone wrong, supernatural entities of some sort, or what. But they were using a government installation as their private center of operations, and have had an informant on the inside for at least three years.”

That pretty neatly summed it up, Will thought miserably. Worst was the feeling that he should have put it together soon.

“Most alarming is the security threat posed by a shapeshifter, and especially with Alex in enemy hands, we can’t afford any more breaches. It is absolutely _crucial_ that they think we’re two steps behind them.”

“We _are,_ ” Jareth added, and Solaris shushed him.

“We’re not going to _stay_ that way. But, first off. Security measures.”

“Oh boy,” Hughes mumbled. “The worst part is I can’t tell if you got this hardass in Black Ops or National Security.”

Solaris rolled her eyes, but still ignored him in favour of continuing. “Jareth brought up that the – the safest way to make sure we’re talking to the correct person each time is to have a password of sorts.”

“Of sorts?”

She sighed, avoiding Will’s eyes. “Passwords on their own are too easy to break, or get out of people. Secrets are easier.”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Will squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “You mean, uh, sharing something we haven’t told anybody else?”

“Yes.” It helped that she looked just as uncomfortable as he did.

Hughes nodded, clearly taking things much more in stride than anybody else. Which was, admittedly, exactly what Will had expected from him. Then – “Oh shoot. The human transmutation thing doesn’t work for Will, does it?”

“Afraid not. Not that many people know, but the enemy clearly does. And if they didn’t know before, they certainly do now.”

Will suppressed the surge of anger he felt at that. If Alex hadn’t been such an _idiot-_

_-stop taking it out on him even when he’s not here-_

“Alright. So it has to be something _super_ private. I-“ Fuck. _Fuck._ He couldn’t use anything he’d told Holland either. He put his hands to his face, sinking down in the chair. “Anything I told my therapist is out. And –“ oh boy his tongue still tried to tie itself in knots- “I’m pretty sure me being gay doesn’t qualify as a secret.”

Solaris, to her credit, cleared her throat to cover up the laugh. Hughes wasn’t so subtle, and started ruffling Will’s hair. “I mean, _hey,_ at least you’re saying it out loud now-“

“Hughes, I have bitten a chunk of flesh off of one person today, and I will make it two. Shut up.”

Hughes obediently retrieved his hand.

“It’s alright, Will. I’m making Maes go first anyway.”

“Aw, _what?_ Fine.” Hughes’s face dropped some of the humour, a sad look creeping up over his face. “I, uh –“ He grumbled something to himself. “I’ve cheated on Gracia. _Once._ ”

“ _What?_ ” Will couldn’t help the reaction.

“Got drunk about a year after we got married, some stuff was getting to me, slept with a girl whose name I don’t even know. I will go to my grave with that secret, hand to God.”

Jareth blinked at Hughes. “…I can’t decide whether to be shocked that it happened at all or that you consider that your darkest secret.”

“I’m pretty sure being a cigano boy doesn’t count given how big my family is!”

Will suppressed a laugh at that. “Cigano? Traveler?”

“Yeah, the rest of my family is spread across most of Amestris. If you ever need trouble, ask a Hughes for help.”

“It is, for the record, an open secret,” Diana added, “unless you’ve forgotten some of the veiled threats from the academy.”

Hughes let out a long-suffering groan. “Don’t remind me. I’m _Viatjo,_ I am not related to whatever Ishvarite-speaking thief you’re angry at.”

“If we can get back on topic?” Jareth was trying – and failing – to hide his grin, and Will realized that Hughes was being silly on purpose. The Lieutenant and the Colonel were upset about something he couldn’t place yet.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

Will glanced up at Solaris, who looked away from him and stared resolutely at her feet. Well, he might have something, and he had a funny feeling sparing Solaris for a few minutes longer might be for the best. “Uh – this is gonna sound crazy.”

“Crazy? After what I walked in on? Hell, I’m pretty sure you might be the sanest one here.”

“Thanks,” Will drawled, but he actually kind of meant it. Especially with the little encouraging nod Jareth gave him. “You know, um, Selim? Sometimes I –“ Crud. This sounded much more insane than he planned on. “Uh, I think I might be able to feel what he’s feeling. Sometimes. When I was in the lab and he got knocked out, I knew he was hurt. And this sounds incredibly stupid and not exactly what you meant.”

“No, this is useful,” Solaris said, her eyes sparking with curiosity. “I might ask you about that later. I noticed, actually – he woke up just as you passed out. Plus, you’re calmer with him around.”

“I – I _am?_ ”

“Mind you, I don’t have the foggiest idea what would cause that. And I’m pretty sure all my ideas to test it are unethical at best-“

“ _Diana!_ ”

She shot a smirk at Hughes. “You know I _wouldn’t._ Without permission.”

“Great, so you’re more of a mad scientist than I planned on. Any chance I can take that back.”

“I’m a flame alchemist. I don’t know what you expected.”

Then Jareth and Solaris exchanged glances. “You do it,” she said finally. “I can’t.” She swept through the apartment, the balcony door slamming shut behind her.

Will glanced nervously at Jareth, who was rubbing his temple. “…Okay, starting to get nervous. I _know_ you two are fucking, if that’s the concern-“

“No, no, that’s not it. That goes in the same open secret bin as Maes being Viatjo and your crushes on boys.” Jareth sighed, pulling his dice from his pocket and twirling them around in his hand. “You gotta understand, Will, me and Di, we don’t – we keep to ourselves for a reason.”

“I’m _special,_ ” Maes beamed. 

“Maes, cut the joker act for a few minutes, will you? I appreciate it, but it’s not helping.”

“Sorry. I got you.”

Jareth took another deep breath. “I was born in the southwest district, middle of nowhere town. My mum left when I was a baby, took my sister with her, left me behind.”

“Alright.” Somehow Will couldn’t picture Jareth growing up in the _country._ That was the big surprise.

“Went after my sister after a while, Maes and I ended up in West City. And I found my sister.”

“You did?”

“…Yeah.” Jareth squeezed his dice. “Haven’t left her since.” Jareth glanced out on the balcony, and it sunk in for a sudden shock of – _I’m an idiot._

Diana.

Jareth and Diana were _siblings._ No wonder they looked so similar, and fought the way they did-

And then the rest processed, and why Diana had been so _nervous_ to talk about it.

“Oh,” Will whispered, suddenly feeling an awful lot like he was looking at a stranger.

* * *

Diana couldn’t hear them in the living room, but she could sure as hell hear it when Will shoved the chair over. Either he was going to storm out of the apartment or-

Right on cue, the balcony door opened, and slammed behind him. He stood there in front of her, looking furious, ready to tear into her for being _disgusting_ or whatever else she’d expected –

-but instead, even though he was angry, he clutched at his arm, fury mixing with confusion and vulnerability. “I don’t understand.”

“Seems like Jareth did a lovely job explaining it.”

“He tried. I just –“ Will bit his lip.

“Ultimately, it isn’t your business, Fullmetal,” she said, drinking some more of the whiskey she’d brought out with her. “It’s a security measure. Nothing else.”

“ _Don’t._ ”

“Don’t wh-“

“Don’t treat me like I’m stupid, and don’t start calling me Fullmetal whenever you’re uncomfortable.”

Diana paused, then lowered her glass, elbows resting on the balcony rail. She was four floors up, Central City spread out in front of her in a gorgeous panorama. It was a nice apartment, really. She hadn’t quite made herself at home in it yet – she missed East City still – but the view was lovely.

“Fine. Will. What, pray tell, do you possibly have to say about my family situation?” She couldn’t help the acid that crept into her voice.

“I just…”

She looked at him again. He was casting a brief look back into the apartment, the hurt on his face more and more obvious the longer she looked. Ah. This wasn’t about her at all.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“Seriously? You go from Fullmetal to _sweetheart?_ ”

She picked up the bottle of whiskey by her leg and handed it to him. “Don’t you dare chug the whole thing. You’re apparently an embarrassing drunk.”

“Oh, god. Does everybody know about that?”

“No, just us.”

“Right. The weirdo twins,” he snarked, taking a sip and pulling a face. “Jesus. I don’t understand how you knock back this shit.”

“Practice and a refined palette.”

“Refined palette? It’s like a brick to the face!”

“Precisely.” She couldn’t help the small smile at him. “…You _know_ Jareth’s too old for you, right?”

He was halfway through another sip, and nearly choked, turning bright red. “I – I don’t know what – of _course_ I know that, you two are fucking ancient-“

“Uh huh. Give me that.” She topped up her glass. “You _know_ Jareth and I are polyamorous anyway. Open,” she added for clarification. “He can date who he wants, I can date who I want. Trust me, he’s not cheating on me with the little librarian.”

“I know that,” he grumbled. “It’s just… different. Knowing you’re _related_ and doing. That.”

She chuckled dryly at that. “Sex, Will. It’s called sex. How you can talk about people ‘fucking’ and still get hung up on the word sex, I don’t know.” She took another sip, closing her eyes as the wind blew over her. “For what it’s worth, I knew you probably wouldn’t take it well. Jareth was convinced it’d be fine.”

“Really? How’d you figure _that_ one?”

“Oh, you come off as a little chaos gremlin. But you don’t like the unexpected nearly as much as you like _being_ unexpected. You’re obsessive. You have your ways of thinking about the world and it screws you up when those get challenged.”

He pulled a face. “Great. Glad to know I manage to be both a psychopath _and_ anal-retentive.”

“I didn’t say that. Or that it was a bad thing, necessarily. I’m curious, though. Why does Jareth and I being brother and sister mess you up more than anything else?”

He fell silent at that. Between them flickered that uncertainty – the fear of the sudden forced intimacy that neither of them knew how to handle. With a desk between them, the personal didn’t matter. She didn’t have to reckon with how young Will was when she was sending him on missions that he’d probably carry out with his usual aplomb and bluster. She didn’t have to think about his opinions on her relationship – which were _still_ entirely besides the point – if they didn’t talk about those things at all.

“…My mom got a lot of shit,” he said quietly. “About being a single mother. And I got it, too. Alex mostly managed to avoid it, I think because he looked like her? But I was the obvious bastard. And, y’know, people are shits, I know that by now, but people always tried to catch me out and make me admit who my father was _really._ Her dad, her brother, some married man-“ He shrugged. “It wasn’t even that important. She died before I understood most of what people were actually talking about.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Doesn’t have anything to do with you. I just –“ He shrugged. “I thought adults had this shit figured out and had normal relationships. Guess not.”

She snorted, finishing the rest of her whiskey. “Someday it’s going to sink in that twenty-nine is not really adulthood.”

“Well it’s sure not fifteen.” Then he paused. “Fuck. Sixteen. Next week, anyway.”

“Oh yes, that extra year changes everything. You’re a _proper_ grown-up now. I’ll get you doing your own income taxes and everything-“

She _deserved_ the whack on the arm that Will gave her, but it still hurt. She rubbed her arm ruefully. “Shut up,” he grumbled – then suddenly stared at her in panic. “Wait, how _do_ my taxes work-“

“You’re a ward of the state and a government employee. They don’t.”

“Oh.” He wrinkled his nose. “That feels wrong, but alright.”

“…Are you feeling better?”

“Depends what you mean,” he grumbled. “I still think screwing your brother is weird. But you’re right. Not really my business.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion. If it helps, we didn’t know we were related at first.”

“Oh, that must have been awkward.”

“Just a little.” She put the bottle down. “Come on, I’m freezing out here.”

“You say that and I’ve got a crop top on.”

“That’s entirely on you, Will. You _could_ wear normal clothes.” Although, she mused, the day that Will wore something normal of his own volition would be when she _really_ started worrying for his mental health.


	4. Day Will Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: alcohol, implied/offscreen parental abuse, PTSD/abandonment trauma, ableism, internalized acephobia discussed, self-hatred/guilt problems discussed, lying/manipulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something you’ve PROBABLY noticed by now is my affection for like – traumatized queer adults stepping in and guiding queer kids who need it, and this chapter is a lot of that. (Okay, DOTE so far has been that. Shh.) I remember years ago I got a comment about how it was unrealistic that nobody closer to Will was particularly judgmental about him crossdressing, and while I know we’re socialized to think that acceptance is rare and that the Solo Queer Suffering Through Life is normal… this is actually pretty common! Even without the words we’re used to, Maes, Jareth and Diana are drawn together because of their shared experiences, and the concept of ‘gaydar’ doesn’t exist because of straight people; it exists because queer people can recognize each other. (The teasing about Will’s closet being made of glass is coming from other queer people on purpose.)
> 
> Also Maes is heteroromantic asexual and YES, HE IS QUEER. I am not accepting argument on this. Happy Pride month <3 <3 
> 
> The other point I mostly wanted to address with this, though, is that Alex not being around means the dynamic here of the teenager surrounded by adults is something that some people are going to recognize and other people are gonna go ‘wut’ at. This isn’t uncommon! When you’re relating to a very small group, this happens, and it’s something that interests me a lot irt the idea that teenagers and adults shouldn’t interact at all. If it weren’t for adults giving me some guidance and Reality Checks, I wouldn’t be around.
> 
> Song is by Keane and is one of my faaaavourite songs, so enjoy! Although you should know by now that all the songs featured in this story are basically de facto recommendations.

~4~

_Some days set your world on fire  
and some days they sink like stones  
it’s when your heart will cry out  
‘til your body is numb  
and the night will try to tempt you  
but the day will come_

**_-Day Will Come_ **

Diana was drunk. Not fully drunk – she was smarter than that – but Jareth could tell from the little wavers of her feet, the way she bit her lip when she smiled, and the slips of her accent that she’d had more to drink than she’d planned on.

Of course, the big clue was that Will had been keeping up with her, and Will was _trashed._ Not nearly as badly as last time – thank _all_ the hundred little gods – but… well…

“I was gone for _ten minutes,_ ” Jareth complained.

Maes just chuckled. “Look, I talked him out of using the automail.”

They were arm-wrestling. On Diana’s nice coffee-table, which Jareth supposed was _fixable,_ but _still._

“Motherfucker,” Will complained. “I thought you mostly just sat back and blew shit up. How on _earth_ are you keeping up?”

“You depend on the steel too much, prettyboy.” She smirked at him, almost gaining the advantage, but he wrestled her back into the middle. “…You aren’t even done _puberty_ yet.”

“Yeah, just think how hot I’m gonna be when I’m done.”

Jareth tapped Maes on the shoulder, and when his friend looked up at him, raised an eyebrow. Maes shrugged and grinned. “They started on the balcony,” he said quietly, “and besides, this is the best they’ve _ever_ got along.”

“Just wait, they’ll start trying to kill each other in a sec.” Still, Jareth jerked his head over, and tugged Maes over to the kitchen.

“What’s up?”

Jareth had ducked outside for a smoke, and to gather his thoughts while Will and Diana fought – or, as it turned out, got cheerfully drunk. He didn’t know why he was so shocked. That was the _trouble_ with the two of them. Good luck getting either of them to admit that they were too similar for their own good; hot tempers fighting cold calculations, puppeteer inclinations clashing with natural bluntness, and a powerful urge to cause as much chaos in their general vicinity as possible. Every time Diana complained about “that blasted Fullmetal kid” and his inability to follow orders, Jareth bit his tongue – or just as often, _didn’t –_ about the fact that she’d shut up General Hakuro by threatening to expose his affair, or that her ‘network of spies’ was made up of the illegal immigrants and sex workers she was supposed to be arresting.

As for him? He had smaller goals. Diana wanted to rule the country, Maes wanted a big family, Will wanted to tear the universe apart to put things right, and he mostly just wanted a drink in one hand, a smoke in the other, and all the lovers he could ever want. Worked for him.

He also _never_ wanted to think about his father again.

“Oh, uh –“ He shook his head to clear the cobwebs. He kept getting distracted. “Called in to catch up on the office and let them know that Will’s still out of commission. No more Beast or monster sightings, and nothing else on the Lab. But, uh…” He coughed to cover the laugh. “Apparently the Fuhrer stopped by.”

“Oh lord.” Maes shook his head. “What does _he_ want?”

“Apparently Diana agreed to attend some sort of party with him.”

“I did _no such thing-_ oh, fuck,” she complained as Will pinned her. “Best two outta three. I was distracted.” She retrieved her hand, flexing it. “I agreed to _go._ I did _not_ agree to being his date.”

“A party?” Will sounded intrigued, although trying to hide it; he glanced between Maes and Jareth with a quiet nervousness. “Wh-what kind of party?”

“It’s so stupid,” she complained into her hands. “The Armstrong patri- pari- The head of the Armstrong family’s retirin’ and the bloody Fuhrer wants to _honour_ the blighter with a gala.”

“Blighter?” Will snickered. “What kind of word is _blighter?_ ”

“Keep your mouth shut, Rizen-boy.”

“You made fun o’me for cattywampus!”

“Because cattywampus is _nonsense._ That is _not_ a real word. That’s fake. You made it up.”

Will flipped her the bird without looking, but settled his chin on the chair, looking at Jareth with wide, gold eyes. “What are military galas like?” If he hadn’t been drunk, Jareth had reflected, he probably wouldn’t have asked at all – but the alcohol had given him both vulnerability and false courage, inhibitions lowered enough to admit even this indirectly that he was _interested._

“Boring,” Diana complained, and Jareth fought not to shush her, already seeing the withdrawal in Will’s face.

Maes stepped in, thank god. “They’re fun, if you go with the right people. Lots of wine and champagne, small talk which is boring as hell, music, dancing-“

“Dancing?” Will couldn’t hide the enchantment in his voice at that, brushing some of his newly-purple hair out of his face and his eyes fixed on Maes. “Like, fai – uh, ballroom dancing?”

Diana rolled her eyes in the backdrop and Jareth couldn’t blame her. Galas were usually a chance for every grabby-handed creep to tell her how pretty she was, and as one of the few high-ranked women in the military, there was always some journalist asking her about what she was wearing. But there was something so sweet about Will’s _innocence._ He wasn’t innocent about much, but Jareth could have sworn he’d been about to say ‘fairytale dancing’. Jareth supposed that made sense. It wasn’t like Will had ever been to something like this.

-Ah. And he wasn’t sure if he was _allowed._

“The Fuhrer seemed to think you would be there too, Will,” he added. Diana glared at him from the couch, and mouthed _bullshit._ But Will seemed to buy it.

“What? I can’t – I don’t, um. I’m not – I’ll think about it,” he mumbled. Then he draped himself over the top of the chair. “I think I’m sobering up. I have regrets.”

“ _You_ have regrets? You nearly broke my arm.”

“I did not. You’re just a sore loser.”

“C’mon, Will. I’ll get you home,” Maes offered, and Will extricated himself from Diana’s chair. Something was _odd,_ but Jareth couldn’t place it. Something was wrong with how Will looked. “Back to real life tomorrow.”

Jareth watched the two of them leave, and Will cast a glance over at him, giving Jareth a wry smile before waving goodbye and slinging his coat over his shoulder. His heart was doing something funny. He was not into that. Very not into that.

The door closed.

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

He swivelled his gaze back to Diana, who had her eyes narrowed and a finger jabbed in his direction. “I – what – I don’t – I have no idea what you’re talking about-“

She just squinted at him some more.

“I _wouldn’t._ ” he lied. More than once, he added mentally. And the panicked I’m-alive kiss didn’t count.

“I _know_ you,” she sighed. “You’ve decided you’re adopting him and I’m telling you right now, I’m not signing up to be his mother.”

He had a brief moment of panicked confusion before he realized. Diana was telling him off for getting _attached._ He still had time to figure out how the hell to fix the mess he’d gotten himself into. “Won’t ask you to. Besides, you come off more like his boisterous older sister.”

She snorted, getting to her feet and pouring herself a glass of water. “Yeah, no idea why _you’d_ get to that conclusion.” She drained the glass, then exhaled. “Okay, that’s better. I didn’t mean to have _that_ much.”

“You have to admit, he’s cute when he’s drunk.”

“I admit nothing. Except that he’s got a _hell_ of an arm, _jesus._ ” She shook out her hand again. She was sobering up fast, one of those skills of hers he’d never mastered. “I hope you know what you’re signing him up for, bringing him to one of those blasted events.”

“He looked so _excited,_ Di-“

“Yeah, and that’ll last until the first asshole comments on his clothes. Or he’ll make _himself_ miserable and try to wear a suit or something.”

Jareth pulled a face. “Trying to imagine him in a suit is… concerning.”

“…by the way.” Diana adjusted her black shirt. “Did you notice? When he was leaving? I could have sworn it was there when I was wrestling him.”

“What?”

“His eye.”

Then Jareth realized what it’d been about Will that had looked so wrong. This morning, he’d broken a blood vessel in his eyes, red streaming into the white in ghoulish effect. But during that whole conversation, and especially while leaving – his eyes had looked fine.

Those didn’t heal in less than a day.

“Today has been… the longest day in history,” she sighed, “and I’m not even the one who shot a shapeshifter.”

“Christ, no wonder you got Will drunk. All this in one fucking day.” He fell silent, his chest aching. He hated how quickly his heart went out to people, how fast he was to fight other people’s battles. He’d gotten so much better about it. But the last while…

“Don’t worry about him so much. Maes’s got him.”

“I know, I know.” He should tell her about the… whatever it was happening between him and Will, he knew. He kept telling himself it was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing, and the discomfort in his stomach every time he let himself think about it too much stopped him from telling her about it, either. He would eventually. But if he just ignored it, it’d be fine. It would sort itself out and Will would move on and date the boy he actually wanted to be with.

“So, I’m about to do something Will is going to kill me for.”

“Another one?” he quipped. “What is it?”

She pulled a face. “You know how everybody has to list an emergency contact?”

Jareth reflected that it was probably a _good_ thing he was around. Will had promised not to shoot him. Will almost _definitely_ would shoot Diana one day.

\---

The saddest thing about today, Maes reflected on the walk from Diana’s apartment back to his house, was watching the borrowed good humour slough off of Will more with each step. Being drunk, ultimately, was the most fun with other people precisely because the fun was infectious; one set of lowered inhibitions encouraged the other, and even he and Jareth stone-cold sober had been having fun.

But even though the alcohol was definitely still in Will’s system, its true nature was kicking in now that it was just the two of them and reality was reasserting itself. Booze was a depressant; it was exactly why Maes didn’t drink anymore, and especially not on his own. And Will had plenty on his mind now that Diana wasn’t blatantly-distracting him.

Maes stuck his hands in his pockets. “I like the new look. Any reason?”

Will shrugged helplessly. “…Get tired of being stared at sometimes.”

“And you went for purple?”

“Well, being stared at a _little_ is fun. But-“ he shrugged again, and Maes knew what he meant. What he’d _actually_ gotten rid of was conspicuous. The automail was covered, and while he was still effeminate, he’d pushed it back into the world of plausible denial.

Maes hesitated. Then – “I’ve always wanted to ask, and please, if this is rude, let me know. Why _did_ you show it off so much before?”

“What, the automail?”

“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I love that. I wish I was that brave-“ Maes stopped at the look on Will’s face, realizing he might have said the wrong thing. “Not so much bravery?”

“Eh, s’pose it’s a matter of perspective.” Will rotated his shoulder with a wince, like acknowledging the automail at all made it hurt. Maes supposed it hurt most of the time. “I don’t… like feeling like I’m hiding things. Like people will, I don’t know, think I lied to them. So I just put it all out there. Take it or leave it.”

“How does that work with your methods of getting information out of people?”

Will snorted in laughter at that. “Oh _god,_ don’t tell me the Colonel shows you my reports.”

“Fraid so. There was a particularly fun one about a rogue chimera in Overbridge…?”

“Pfft, god. Yeah, things kind of backfired on me there. Alex actually-“ Then Will’s good humour dropped, the hand that had so ruefully been rubbing the back of his head hanging off the back of his neck, the guilt on his face painful to watch. It was all the worse for how much of the argument Maes had heard; not enough to intervene in time, enough to know how needlessly cruel much of it had been.

“Just another few blocks and we’re home.”

“Maybe I should…” Will hung back. “I should probably stay in barracks.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Your home is with us as long as you’re here.”

“Yeah, I burnt my last house down, so that might not be a good thing.”

“If you intend on starting any fires in my house,” Maes said sagely, “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“No, I just…”

Maes walked back and stood in front of Will. It was odd, he reflected – knowing that, had he been fifteen years younger, or Will fifteen years older, they would be as close as him and Jareth. He was shaping up to be that kind of person – the eternal outcast, stuck between blending in and rallying for change. He just hadn’t realized the second was an option yet. There were plenty of things he hadn’t realized.

“You think you destroy everything you touch,” he said softly. “That you deserve this somehow. That so many bad things can’t happen to one person without them having done _something_ to earn it. That if you drive away the people who care about you, then at least you can self-destruct in peace and save everybody the trouble. You think maybe you’re just broken and that people should spare their time and energy.”

The teenager in front of him met his eyes for a moment, then closed his own, a few stray tears brimming at the corners of his eyelashes. “Am I that easy to read?” he murmured.

“Nope. Actually you’re a pain in the ass to get a read on most of the time. You cover better than you think you do.” The corner of his mouth twitched up. “Thing is, you’re not as weird as you think you are.”

Will raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Seriously. This is a normal reaction to abnormal circumstances. The temptation to self-destruct is _powerful._ ”

“Damn. Maybe you should have been my therapist instead of the homicidal freak.”

Maes laughed, and ruffled Will’s hair. “Nope, nope, nope. I would be a terrible therapist. The last self-destructive teenager I was around, I hit her over the head with a textbook.”

“…did it _work?_ ”

“More or less. The point is, though… your mind is lying to you. Brains do that.”

Will fell back into step with Maes, clearly chewing it over. “Does yours?”

“Oh, all the time.” He thought for a moment about what to share, then decided he might as well. If Jareth and Diana could share one of their most deeply-held secrets, he could open up a little. “D’you know why I cheated on Gracia?” When Will shook his head, Maes continued, “Because men are supposed to want sex. All the time, constantly. And even though we’d talked about it and everything, I still felt like I was letting her down.”

“Oh. So-“

“So I tried to prove to myself that I could have sex just for the sake of it. And frankly? It sucked. I hated it. I just felt _worse._ And Gracia? Gracia doesn’t care that I don’t care for sex. It was all in my head.”

Will nodded quietly. Then – “Wait, but Elysia…?“

“Hey, women can lie back and think of Amestris, so can I.”

Will laughed, then covered his mouth. “Am I allowed to laugh at that?” he mumbled from behind the hand.

“Yes, yes, laugh at my predicament all you want.” Maes pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. “I exist _only_ for your amusement.”

“I see you’re all tore up,” Will snorted. Then he stopped at the step of Maes’s house. “…I guess I gotta get used to being on my own.”

“You’re not on your own. And I know what you meant. But don’t you ever think that.”

Will seemed ready to complain or protest – but then he just let it lie. “G’night, Hughes.”

“Night, Will.”

Will headed inside, and Maes sat on the steps for a moment, staring up at the moon.

“Coming inside, dear?” said Gracia’s voice after a while, and he lay backwards on the stoop, gazing up at his wife with a smile.

“In a moment. Today was…long.”

“Did you find Ale- oh, dear. Your face gives me the answer.”

“We’ll find him,” Maes sighed. “How’s Elysia? I hope she didn’t hear too much of it.”

Gracia pulled a face. “I… Well. She heard some of it. There’s been a few tough questions. I handled them the best I could.” She cast her eyes down. “I avoided the ‘killing yourself’ question for now. I just… talked to her a little about how sometimes people have a lot going on and that doesn’t mean anybody’s wrong. And that she’s _certainly_ not in trouble.”

Maes took a deep breath, and exhaled until his ribs rattled. “Thank you. I have no idea how I would have fielded that one.”

“Probably with your usual distraction of ice cream and kisses.”

“Guilty as charged.” He got to his feet with a ‘hup’, then pulled her into a kiss. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, dear.”

She smiled into the kiss, then pulled him inside. Today was over. The rest of the world waited.

\---

Most of the Central area of Amestris was heavily urbanized, but between the outskirts of the suburbs of Central and the smaller towns that ringed the area, the woods were allowed organized, reasonable dominion. The Centralites, as a whole, left these wooded areas alone; there were navigable roads and pathways through them, but the woods themselves were just a little _too_ close to true wilderness, even with their well-spaced trees and lack of real wildlife.

Envy found the whole concept hysterical. Nobody living in the center of Amestris had a clue what the wild looked like. They thought a fallen tree was a sign of encroaching chaos and plague, and that a crop of mushrooms or moss was a bad omen upon their houses. He, on the other hand, was tempted to release some wolverines or bears into their back yards just to see how they coped.

They served just fine for cover, though, and he swung upside down on one of the branches, grinning at the upside down vision of his brother. “You’re so _grumpy._ Come on, this is fun.”

“Fun. Yeah. Wonderful. Look, I’d love to come south with you, but I have some more shit to clean up in Central.”

Envy sighed. “ _And_ you’re avoiding our master.”

“Was I that obvious?” Pride snarked. The fight with the Fullmetal kid had obviously bothered him, but honestly, most fights bothered his brother. He didn’t like killing people, even though it was usually the easiest way to take care of things.

“Are you actually going to tell me anything about your master?” came the sigh from Pride’s shoulder. “I keep feeling like I’m selling my soul.”

Pride looked distinctly uncomfortable, which meant Envy was going to have to step in. _Again._ He hopped down from the tree, landing on his feet, and gathered up the doll from his brother’s shoulder, placing Alex on his head. He was _cute._ Fun-sized. “She’s… well. She’s a lot!”

“She’s a _bitch._ ”

“Ed,” Envy reprimanded. “She’s a little strong-willed. But she gives us pretty free rein. Mostly you just have to stay on her good side, and you’re fine!”

“…Uh huh. Well, I guess you have to be a bit of a bitch if you’re fighting something as deeply embedded as the Amestris military.”

_So serious,_ Envy sighed internally. “I guess so. And more importantly, _we_ are getting you a proper body. One you can actually move around in.”

“…That’ll be nice.” There was cautious excitement in Alex’s voice. “ _Hey._ ”

Pride was trying to quietly leave, and he paused, sticking his hands in his pockets and flashing an uneasy smile at Alex. “Yeah?”

“You said you had stuff to clean up in Central. You mean Will, don’t you?”

“Among other things.”

“You _promised._ ”

Pride groaned, then put a hand to his chest. “I _promise,_ oh tiny grumpy one, that I will not kill your abusive piece of shit brother unless he gives me literally no other choice.”

“You’re not going to kill him at _all._ You’re a shapeshifter! Get creative!”

“You realize-“

“ _Pride._ ”

Pride sighed. “Fine. _Fine._ One day I’m getting the stick out of your ass.”

“Once I’m not made of wood it’ll be easier.”

Envy stifled a laugh at that, and Pride rolled his eyes before taking off. It was probably for the best. He could not lie for _shit._ It was more stressful than Envy could possibly have imagined, having to watch his face and distract Alex whenever Pride started looking guilty. He could feel guilty all he wanted. They needed an alchemist. And besides- Alex was getting a good deal out of it, too. He’d thank them, later.

Maybe.

“Do I get to pick what I look like?” Alex asked quietly. “I – I don’t know how this works.”

Envy just wished Alex wasn’t so damn cute. It was like lying to a kitten. “I think so! You’ll have to ask our master, but I don’t see why not.”

“Did you get to?”

Envy came to a pause mid-step. Oh. He hadn’t expected that. He chuckled nervously and kept moving. “Er, not so much. I didn’t have another body before this one, though.”

“Oh! Sorry, I guess I – You sounded like you knew what you were talking about.” Alex sounded so embarrassed that Envy decided to take pity on him.

“My brother and I are, we’re… well, we’re not _brothers,_ not like you and Will are.”

“Shame, you’re missing out on so much.”

He snickered at that. “You and Pride are going to be fun in a room together.”

“Didn’t you know? Sarcasm makes you live longer.”

“That would explain Pride,” Envy mused. “Anyway. He was human once, I think?” Actually, he knew, but the more innocent he came across, the better. “But I was made from scratch.”

“Woah. So you’re a-“

“Homunculus. Yeah. Man-made human. Technically we both are! But there’s a lot of different ways of doing it.”

Alex stayed quiet for a little while. “I- I keep wanting to say that that’s forbidden but I’m sitting here in a living doll. So I guess I don’t get to say fuckall.”

“Nope! Besides, I don’t see what’s so wrong with it. I’m perfectly normal. And it’s why my master has the science to make you the kind of body you want, instead of sticking you back in one you hate.”

Alex lay down on the top of Envy’s head, and even though there weren’t a lot of cues to go off, Envy could hear the smaller boy getting more and more at ease. The sadness was still there, and Envy couldn’t fix _that –_ he’d thought Alex would leave quietly in the middle of the night, not blow up at his brother. That had been unfortunate. But the Fullmetal kid’s feelings weren’t his problem, and the end result was the same.

“…Do you think Will can ever forgive me?”

Ah. So that was what was on Alex’s mind, beyond the curiosity.

“Forgive you for what? Speaking your mind for once?”

“I don’t…” Alex subsided into silence. “I – I suppose.” He still sounded troubled.

Envy knew other questions would follow, eventually, and he’d have to keep finding ways to stretch the truth, to play off the insecurities he already knew about to keep him comfortable. He didn’t _mind –_ he was good at this part. He understood humans well enough from the outside to know what they wanted to hear, and for all that Alex felt othered and strange, his insides were squishy and mortal enough. Still, the part of Envy that was human – the part that flickered to life when Pride called him _Alphonse_ and that drove half of his hopeless endeavors to begin with – kept questioning him anyway.

_Keep him safe,_ he decided, _and the rest will follow._

And safe was a matter of perspective.


	5. Hold Your Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter include: transphobia/misgendering (referenced; Will is calling himself on it), mental illness feels along the ‘shit I fucked up SO BAD’ line and some fairly obvious lying/manipulation. Also, the ending of the chapter may spook those who know what’s coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! Took a little break to work on other stuff, and okay, full disclosure, I am pretty sure I was manic or near-manic for large swaths of writing the last bit of HOTP. That or ADHD hyperfixation or – mental illness is weird. Take that down as some of the Thematic Thrust of this fictional universe. “Mental Illness: What Even The Fuck.”
> 
> Anyway, this is a slower chapter, mostly setting up some character dynamics and worldbuilding stuff. I’m trying to readjust to a slower pace overall since we’re coming down from Big Stuff.
> 
> Plot-wise, we are officially completely past the 2003/Brotherhood divide, which means things are going to get even less predictable. There are still some events from both that are going to show up, but not in the expected order or at the expected times; we’re playing even faster and looser with canon than usual. That said, while I have a plot, I’m interested to know if there are like – events or canon moments people are looking forward to!
> 
> Song is by Sleep On It. Excellent if you like punk music!

~5~

 _I’m falling in and out again  
I’ve been crawling through the dark  
But I’m fumbling for light again  
(Deep down I know that I can change_)

**_-Hold Your Breath_ **

There was something bracing, he decided, about the act of being called on your shit. He didn’t _like_ it. He wasn’t sure how to _fix_ it. And god knew he wasn’t sure how to move beyond the ‘stare at the ceiling and muse over how badly you’d fucked things up’ stage. But there was something – he wasn’t sure. Interesting? Terrifying? Invigorating?

Whatever it was, he felt different. Overly aware of his own skin, or maybe that was the lingering not-quite-a-hangover that was lurking in the back of his head.

_That conversation was with Selim. Not you._

_I meant to ask you about it properly, I swear –_

_You’re just saying that because I’m calling you on it._

Was that true? Will hadn’t figured that part out yet. That was what was so damn difficult.

Alex was gone. Alex was gone, and he was here, and he couldn’t stop running through the conversation, looking for all the places he’d slipped up, the places he’d misstepped, where he’d gotten it _wrong,_ where he could have fixed it. Had he really meant to ask Alex about the conversation – about the fear of being in the wrong body? He supposed he’d _thought_ about it. Was that the same as meaning to? He hadn’t made _plans._

And then there was the part that made his shoulders tense up to think about, the part he wanted to erase from existence.

_Aren’t you my sister?_

_Aren’t you?_

_Sister._

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” He rubbed his knuckles over his eyes. He hadn’t _meant_ to. It’d slipped out. And why? After years and _years._ Alex probably thought he’d been faking it all this time. Going along with Alex wanting to be a boy, going along with Alex wanting a different body, laughing at him behind his back – and he couldn’t even _say_ otherwise, because it’d been his own dumb traitorous tongue that had slipped. He’d meant brother. He had. Hadn’t he?

So much of him wanted to just shove it aside and ignore it. Focus on getting Alex back, saving him from the people who had _stolen_ him, who were trying to ruin his life –

He was gritting his teeth again, he realized. Motherfucker.

It’d be so easy. Just forget about it. Just shove it aside and deal with it later.

- _do you ever think about anybody other than yourself? Do you even want my opinion on it?-_

He was starting to understand _why_ people ended up with drinking problems.

He’d thought everything was fine if they didn’t talk about it. Apparently not.

Something moved, sounded – and before he realized it was a knock, he jerked upwards, a hiss coming from between his teeth. “Fuck! Fuck off!”

“…Mom says food’s ready?” Elysia said from behind the door, sounding concerned. “Are you having adole- alode-“

“Adolescence,” he grumbled. “No. Sorry. Gimme a sec.”

Well, his ‘be a better person’ commitment wasn’t off to a great start. He ran his hands through his hair, then blinked in startled surprise as he pulled the strands up to his face. Purple. He’d forgotten. He’d probably get bored of it and end up back at green at some point, but for now it was decent.

_Alex kept telling you the green looked like a chemical spill,_ came the stray thought, and he was upset all over again.

_Deal with it later,_ he told himself. At least for a little while, he could shut the door on it, and handle himself. The thought did keep following him thought – why had he fucked up now, after years of accepting Alex’s gender on faith? It wasn’t the kind of thing that you _forgot._

He got up, pulling on his discarded clothes and ignoring Trisha as she stood steadfast in the corner. She didn’t say a word. Her presence said plenty on its own.

* * *

Food was fine. Gracia was fine. Elysia was – okay, fine, she was pretty damn cute. But Will’s mind was elsewhere, and he couldn’t help it. Alchemy was capable of plenty of things – but it had limits. He knew many of them from painful experience. But homunculi were – _impossible_ wasn’t the right word. He’d seen models of them in the older textbooks, artificial humans who could follow basic commands. But he’d never paid attention – why would he? – and they weren’t supposed to be this complex. What he’d seen at Lab 5 and in Holland’s apartment was impossible.

“Will?”

He nearly choked on the bite of toast he’d been chewing for five minutes. “Mm?”

Gracia stifled a laugh under a cough. “Maes just asked if you were going to head to Central Command.”

Oh. God. “I. I probably should, given that I work there.”

“You sound so excited,” Hughes drawled – “Ow! Don’t _kick_ me.”

“I was going to take lunch over to Solaris and Valjean. Perhaps we can go over together in a few hours.” She smiled. “In the meantime, Maes has a few of the books that that sweet girl transcribed that might be useful?”

Will found himself turning pink. “Thank you,” he mumbled, picking up his cup of coffee and quickly hiding his face in it.

“Thank you, _thank you,_ ” Elysia corrected.

“What? How does _that_ work.”

Gracia hid her face in her hands. “She’s gotten on a manners kick.”

“Hey, there are worse things!” Hughes chuckled. “Come on, I’ll show you those books.”

“I’ll show you those books, _please,_ ” Elysia insisted.

Hughes took Will into the study, which he’d been in before, but usually only quickly. Most of the time, clearly, it was used for Hughes’s active cases, and there was a corkboard on the wall with newspaper clippings, scrawled notes and coloured pins. A small shelf held a number of binders with S.T.1, S.T.2, etc. on them and dates, and Will realized with amusement that the initials stood for ‘Sheska Thomas’.

“I cannot remember which one of these it was, but one of these had something about Sveya- whatever in it.”

“Sveyati?”

“Yeah. Hold on, I thought you didn’t know what it was?”

“No, but I have a good memory for names.” Will picked the first binder, pulled it down, and started flipping through the pages – then paused at Hughes’s startled expression. “What?”

“How fast do you _read?_ ”

“I’m _skimming._ But two hundred and fifty pages an hour, normally. Why?”

Hughes scoffed, shaking his head. “You pull off the angsty rebel thing so well I forget sometimes how much of a _nerd_ you are.”

“And you’re a detective. Pot, kettle.” Will put the binder back on the shelf and grabbed the second one, but before he got it open, he found himself distracted by the news clippings.

_Beast Sighting In Central Lab Collapse_

_Ishvalan Mob Connections Suspected In Late Night Riots_

“You didn’t tell me about this,” Will said dubiously.

“You didn’t tell us you’d run into the Beast again,” Hughes countered. “Although to be fair, we’d made a good guess.”

Will shrugged guiltily. “Sorry. I… Yeah.”

“Hey, no need to apologize. It sounds like whatever you saw at the lab fucked you up. The Beast-“

“He’s not a beast.”

Hughes’s eyebrows just about flew off his face. “ _Well._ I thought he was what had you all screwed up, but I suppose the shapeshifter shakes things up.”

“He… the Ishvalan…” Will found himself rubbing his thumb in circles over the cover of the binder. “He saved me. I think he’s – I don’t know. He’s the same thing as the others, but I think –“ He shook his head, doubting his voice.

“Whatever you’re thinking, I’m interested.”

Will glanced up at Hughes. It sounded stupid even in his head. The Beast had _killed_ people.

_Find your brother and leave. And never tell him what happened here._

“I think he’s like me,” he sighed. “Not – not directly, but he can’t – um – he’s not always in _control._ There’s him, and then there’s the thing inside him. He talked about them like they were different.”

Hughes leaned back against his desk. “Is that how you think of yourself?”

“Don’t psychoanalyze me,” Will snapped without thinking. He bit his tongue, already cursing himself for it, but Hughes just nodded.

“Fair enough. That’s already more info that we had. So the B- Ishvalan is one of those…things?”

“Homunculi. That’s the word they used. But none of the books I’ve ever seen describes homunculi like tha- _found it!_ ”

Hughes stared down at the now-open binder. “How did you talk and read at the _same time?_ ”

“You can’t?”

“You’re insane.”

“No, just unlucky,” Will grumbled. “This is useless. See, more of this stuff about homunculi as made of twigs and bone. They aren’t _supposed_ to look human.”

Hughes held up his hands. “Okay, one, you read that in the time it took me to blink, and two, this is well past my limit for nerd stuff. Why don’t you take that to the Colonel and see if she can help you?”

Will immediately pulled a face, and scowled all the harder when Hughes started laughing. ” _Stop it._ ”

“The world will not end if you actually ask Diana for help, Will.”

“Says you,” he groaned. “She’ll hold it over my head, and probably solve it in like two seconds, and I’ll look dumb in front o-“ He cut himself off in horror as his face started to turn red.

Hughes raised an eyebrow.

“Oh look is it lunch time already I better go find Gracia,” he managed to stammer out, and fled. Holding the binder, thank god, or he’d have had to go back for it.

* * *

Alex was already starting to regret a lot of things. Not leaving, exactly. Every time he started regretting _that,_ he started replaying the argument with Will in his head and making himself want to cry again, and that just went badly.

But he was starting to recognize where they were, and that didn’t seem like a good sign, because they were in the South.

“Why are we in the South?” he asked dubiously.

“Oh, you’ve been here before! Good eye,” Envy congratulated him, which seemed like a weird way of sidestepping the question. Alex yanked on Envy’s hair in annoyance. “Ow! Okay, okay. Our master has one of her houses here.”

“One?”

“Well, the one that’s the most normal. She’s a bit odd.”

“Define odd, please.”

“Uh…” Envy paused. “Old, a little temperamental, a little too fond of being cryptic?”

“Is her name Izumi Curtis?”

“Oh! No.”

Alex relaxed, although part of him was slightly disappointed. He wouldn’t have put it past Izumi to be in charge of a secret organization of anarchists trying to take down the Amestrian government, but it seemed a little sneaky for her. No, Izumi would probably just challenge the Fuhrer to an arm-wrestling competition.

“…Why do you ask?” Envy asked, sounding kind of nervous.

“Oh, this kind of looks like the area around Dublith, and this is where my old alchemy teacher lives.”

“Uh. Your alchemy teacher, Izumi Curtis?”

“Yeah! You know her?”

“I. I know of her, yes.”

Envy still sounded weirdly nervous, but to be honest, _most_ people were nervous when it came to Izumi. He missed her, really. But it was safer to go say hi _after_ he’d gotten a body that didn’t have “hello, I disobeyed you and flaunted your teachings all over it.”

Then the house itself began to appear through the trees. Alex sat up on Envy’s head, taking it in. The house – the _mansion –_ was _huge._ He didn’t think he’d ever seen a house so big before. “Holy shit. I think you could fit most of Rizenbul in there.”

“It’s pretty neat,” Envy admitted. “It’s empty more than it should be, too. The others come and go a lot.”

“And you?”

“Sometimes. Mostly with Ed – uh, Pride.”

Alex chuckled at that. “What’s with the two names?”

“I _try_ to call him Pride. It’s easier when we’re on missions and have to be official.” Envy’s voice got a little softer. “Still slips out.”

“So Ed is-?”

“Not your business.” Envy was trying to sound tough, but it wasn’t working very well. “It’s like a – a petname. Between just us.”

That definitely wasn’t the whole story. But Alex figured he’d have plenty of time to find out. Staring up at the mansion, he couldn’t shake the feeling of dread.

_You can always leave,_ he reminded himself. _If you have to._ The thought of going back to Will with his tail between his legs made him want to scream, but that wasn’t the only option. He could always leave.

Envy opened the door of the mansion with a creak. “Anybody home?” he asked cheerfully.

“Oh, _finally_ somebody shows up. We’ve been waiting for hours!”

“It’s been fifteen minutes,” came a tired reply.

Oh. Oh no. Alex knew that voice. He discreetly slid to the back of Envy’s neck, hoping he was mistaken.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Envy asked politely.

“We’re answering the _flyer._ Alchemy apprentices? Girls preferred,” she added in a sprightly tone.

“Preferred, Lyra. Not _only_ girls.”

Great. Alex peered over Envy’s shoulder. That was definitely, _definitely_ Lyra Yoki. The two with her he didn’t recognize – two short-stacks, one with a thatch of blond hair sticking through a headband, and the other – _huh._ Xingese, maybe? Or from the Southlands like his teacher. But she was dressed in a pink robe which clearly set her apart from the other two.

“Uh, I’m not sure if my master is home right now. Maybe you should come back later?”

Lyra scoffed. “And go _where?_ ”

“An inn? A pub? A place that isn’t here?” Envy sounded a little exasperated, but Alex couldn’t blame him. Poor him. Not a soul alive could have prepared him for Lyra.

“Don’t be in such a rush to kick them out.” The quiet pronouncement silenced all five of them, and sent a ghost of a prickle up Alex’s spine. Past them, through the hall lit by the rows of tall windows and below the chandelier hanging from the impossibly high ceiling, a figure was coming down the stairs. Her hand rested lightly above the banister, a pose rather than gesture of support, and her eyes lingered on each of them. Alex resigned himself to being overlooked again. He was used to it – but he’d make himself known. One way or another, things would change.

“Four new hopefuls. I do so enjoy fresh blood,” she said with amusement.

Four.

There were five people in the room – but one of them was Envy. Which meant…

_Don’t get excited,_ Alex reminded himself.

“My name is Dante. I must warn you – I do not suffer fools gladly. Nor am I interested in mediocrity.” She reached the bottom of the steps, the dark purple folds of her dress rippling around her ankles. “So, here’s your chance.” Her eyes landed on each of them in turn – Lyra, the blond boy next to her, the Xingese transplant in the hand-me-down robes… and then on Alex, tucked into the crook of Envy’s shoulder.

“Impress me.”


	6. Ballroom Blitz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter include: slavery references, violence, rejection sensitivity, misogyny/slut shaming, transmisogyny (being apologized for!) and internalized homophobia/fear relating to such.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I love this chapter. I loved writing it, and I usually hate action scenes, but this one is like the most anime thing I’ve ever done. Also, I usually do not like Mei, but she has GROWN ON ME.
> 
> If you are trying to place why the opening to this chapter sounds familiar, compare the opening of Chapter 42 of Hero of the People. I dabble as a folklorist so I had a lot of fun with ‘alternate’ tellings of this!
> 
> The song is by Sweet. I think most people know that, haha.

~6~

_ I see a man at the back as a matter of fact _

_ his eyes are as red as the sun _

_ and the girl in the corner let no one ignore her _

_ cause she thinks she’s the passionate one _

**_-Ballroom Blitz_ **

Once upon a time, more than ten generations ago, a traveler came from the west. He was a poor man, a slave who had broken his bonds and escaped his homeland. But the tools of his escape had not come easily. The cost had been his very humanity; in exchange for freedom from his shackles, he was bound instead into his bones, doomed to live forever.

The emperor and all his noblemen gathered to hear the Western Sage speak. He gave them knowledge of many things – how to turn iron into gold, and how to spin metal into thread – but the most precious secrets, he kept to himself. The Western Sage had learned already that not everybody could be trusted with the knowledge he held.

So instead, he chose two apprentices from the emperor’s household; the eldest and boldest of his sons, and the youngest and most curious of his daughters. As for the third… He pretended not to notice the curious pair of slippers that had followed him to and fro about the palace, or the smell of fresh dumplings that drifted behind her. But when he was ready to begin his lessons, he said quietly, “You can come out now. We’re ready to begin.” For the kitchen-maid had been listening intently to his every word since he had arrived, and he had not only allowed it, but made sure that she could hear.

Now the Western Sage knew that cleverness was not enough. So he asked them each in turn what they would do, if they could obtain one thing from the universe and pay nothing in return.

The eldest son and heir replied immediately that he would want immortality. The Western Sage then knew that he had lost him. He told the heir where to find it, if he wanted it so badly – and he would never see him again.

The youngest daughter replied that she would ask for luck. It was a responsible answer and a peaceful one, but the Western Sage knew that she would never understand how to work for what she needed. Luck was easy enough, but the world did not work on luck.

Then it was the kitchen maid’s time to respond. She took her time with her answer, and then said, “I would ask for knowledge for its own sake. To understand the push and the pull of the world. How the trees know how to bloom, or the snow knows how to fall. How the thunder knows to follow the lightning.”

“Knowledge, and only that?”

She nodded silently. The Western Sage then knew he had found his student. “What is your name?”

“Min. Just Min.”

So the Western Sage took Min as his student, and Jiayi the luck-seeker as his wife. In return for Min’s dedication and loyalty to his teachings, he arranged for her to become one of the next emperor’s wives; in doing so, he elevated her from a maid to a princess, and bestowed upon her the last name ‘Chang’ – the constant one.

He could not stay in Xing forever. But he said to Min’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren, before he left, that it was their sacred duty to preserve his teachings of alkahestry. Above all, he told them, it was their duty to make sure it was used as he intended; to maintain peace, to appreciate knowledge for its own sake, and to allow even the lowest slave to hold their ground.

* * *

“Impress me.”

_Oh, this should be fun,_ Alex thought grimly. He _could_ fight people in this body, was the thing. It just took a little bit of planning. The good thing was he knew for a fact Lyra wasn’t particularly skilled in combat alchemy, and the other two… well, they didn’t _look_ very threatening, but he didn’t want to get carried away.

“Hey, Envy?”

“Mm?”

“Throw me at the little girl.”

“Really? Okay.” Envy carefully picked up Alex and, about as discreetly as he could manage, tossed him onto the Xingese girl’s back. The second he landed, he activated one of the circles on his arm –

-and nothing happened.

Oh, _fuck._

“First lesson,” Dante said calmly. “Never assume the chemical properties of something you don’t recognize.”

“What?” Lyra said in confusion.

“And second lesson – always watch your backs.”

All three of them turned, but it was the animal that Alex _hadn’t_ noticed on the Xingese girl’s shoulder who noticed him first. It opened its jaws, and he scrambled up to Mei’s shoulder. Silk. The stupid robe was _silk._ He’d assumed it was _linen._ His circles worked fine if he actually used them r-

Oh. Oh, right.

He clapped his hands together, but before he could do anything, he jumped as Lyra’s hand came down on the Xingese girl’s shoulder.

“Ow!”

“What _is_ that?” the blond boy asked in confusion. Good. Confused, he could work with. He landed on Lyra’s head, chuckling quietly to himself as she looked back and forth trying to find him. Then he slid down to where her necklace chain sat – and broke it. She kept her array in such an _obvious_ place, and now he was holding a few links of metal.

“Got you!”

Something whizzed past him, caught the fabric of his shirt, and pinned him to the wall. Ow. Alex looked up at the dagger – it had a scrap of red hanging from it. Then he looked at the others, and realized –

“Oh, motherfucker.”

The Xingese girl, who he was starting to realize he had _sorely underestimated,_ drew a pentagram with her feet, hands held out in front of her, and Alex slammed his hands together and to the dagger before whatever transmutation he had planned for him went through. He wasn’t sure how _exactly_ his blood seal would react to that, but he didn’t intend on testing it. He slammed the metal links he’d stolen to the dagger holding him in place, and for good measure, turned the scrap of fabric to ash to give him a little bit of cover.

The other three wheezed and coughed, which was just fine by him. By the time the ash had cleared, he’d gotten together –

Lyra sighed in frustration. “Is that a cannon?”

“Sure is!”

“Are you _talking?_ ” the Xingese girl said in sudden surprise. “Wait – oh no! Where’s Xiao Mei?”

“Don’t worry, I got her,” said Envy contentedly. The little black and white creature was sitting quite calmly in Envy’s hands – chewing on one of his fingers, actually, which didn’t seem to be getting much of a reaction.

“Oh. I suppose that’s alright,” she said doubtfully. “I –“

There was a thwack as Lyra sucker-punched her in the face, and she fell to the ground. She dusted off her hands, returning her gaze to Alex’s cannon.

“Brutish, but effective,” Dante commented. “However-“

The smaller girl’s feet burst up from the ground and into the small of Lyra’s back.

“Turning on your allies _does_ have consequences. If you’re going to do it, do it well.”

Alex was starting to wonder if it was even worth _firing_ the cannon at this point. There was still the third of them, though – the blond, who had stayed back. He was hiding, it seemed, by the potted fern next to the doorway, and seemed ready to run.

Except…

The quiet boy was etching something into the wall behind the fern. Then he pressed his hands to it, and the fern began to grow. Its roots sped across the floor, faster than any root should grow, and wrapped around the two warring girls. Then they approached Alex.

“No need for that,” he said, and they stopped. He met the boy’s eyes across the room. “Your name’s Fletcher, isn’t it?”

“H-how did you know that?”

“I uh – I’ve met your brother.”

“Really?” Fletcher’s eyes lit up. “Is he okay? Is he alive? I- I’ve been looking for him.”

Alex’s heart sank. This was going to suck. “We can, um, we can talk later.”

The way Fletcher’s face fell meant Alex was going to have to come up with a _good_ story. He wasn’t particularly keen to identify himself as the Fullmetal Alchemist’s brother. Not anymore. And, more presently –

Lyra glared at him. “So what are _you?_ Some sort of doll?”

“Alchemy experiment gone wrong,” he decided on. It was close enough.

“Just wait until I get out of these stupid things-“

The room glowed briefly, then the glow just as quickly went away. All four sets of eyes raised to Dante, who lowered her hand, pleased that her warning had worked.

“I’ve seen quite enough. Very impressive, all of you. Although I’m intrigued that your minds immediately went to trying to kill each other.”

“Be fair,” Alex argued. “I wasn’t going for _kill._ ”

“Oh, you talk back. I like that.”

He shut himself up. Damn it. Will had rubbed off on him more than he thought. The slight, amused smile on her face put him a little more at ease, though.

“I was intending on only taking one of you under my wing. But I see I may have to make some changes to my plans. Please, tell me a little about yourselves.”

They all looked at each other in mild panic, until Fletcher took the opportunity. “I’m Fletcher Tringham, ma’am. Specialized in plant alchemy, and self-taught.”

“Lyra Y- er, Wolf. Lyra Wolf. No specialization right now, self-taught, but interested in wind alchemy.”

“Chang-Mei-“ She paused. “Mei Chang, wushu and alkahestry.”

His turn. “Alex.” He squirmed. “Alex… Bradley.” It was the first thing he could think of that wasn’t Elric. As for the rest… “Should I point out the obvious or are we good?” he asked.

There was a smothered snicker – actually, _several,_ he realized. Including, much to his eternal amusement, from Envy – who immediately made an innocent face as he noticed Alex looking at him and went back to petting Xiao Mei.

Dante raised an eyebrow at him. “We _are_ going to have to work on that mouth of yours.”

“I apologize. I’ll work on it.” _I’m apparently working off some excess bitterness,_ he thought grumpily.

“Also, I assume you meant your unusual body. But I notice you also transmute without a circle. _Very_ interesting.”

Oh. Oops. Maybe he should have kept a lid on that – but the appraisal in her eyes as she looked at him, actually _saw_ him, was… It felt good. “I do.”

“Very well. Miss Chang, Mr. Bradley, Mr. Tringham, with me.”

Alex didn’t think about it, didn’t notice the missing name until he’d clambered up onto Fletcher’s shoulder with a murmured _thanks for the lift_ and they were halfway up the stairs. But Mei did. She stood awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs, torn between the two of them. Fletcher seemed hesitant, too – he hadn’t noticed, Alex realized, or had assumed the name was coming after his. It was one thing to only choose _one_ of them.

Lyra stood up, shaking, kicking the dying roots away from her. “…Why not?” she challenged.

Alex glanced over at Envy, who until now had been happily patting Xiao Mei. He _cringed._ That wasn’t a good sign.

“Why not?” Dante’s voice went silky-quiet as she went down the stairs, approaching Lyra. “You’re uncouth and uncultured. A gutter-slut with a stolen array around your neck and not an original thought in your life. The most interesting thing you did during that fight was turn on your friend, and that tells you that you’re not just a viper, but an uninteresting one.”

Lyra’s eyes flashed with rage, and she picked up the broken chain from the ground. She was going to use the array in Dante’s direction, Alex realized – and it wasn’t going to work. The glowing from earlier – Dante had alchemical control over the whole room, if not the whole _house._ And…

And it wouldn’t even get that far. Because unlike everybody else in the room, his eyes were on Envy, waiting in the back. And Envy had put the cat down, silent tension in his legs. It didn’t matter how much they’d chatted on the way here, or how much Envy had turned out to be right about. All Alex could see, suddenly, was the way that Selim had crumpled in the lab, how _easily_ Envy had knocked him out.

_I’m in the wrong place. I’m in the wrong place. I’m in the wrong place._ It started up like a mantra in his head, and he was going to watch Lyra die, wasn’t he, because she couldn’t handle the cruel slight –

“Please forgive her, Shifu!” Suddenly Mei was between them, bowing deeply. “We have been dishonest with you and beg your forgiveness!”

Lyra lowered her hand, confusion written in her eyes.

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Lyra is my loyal servant! We lied in order to protect my identity as Princess Heir of the Chang Clan. I apologize sincerely for her behaviour, but she was only concerned for my safety in your care.”

“I what?”

Mei stomped, discreetly, on Lyra’s foot.

“I was, sh-shifu.” Lyra bowed behind Mei.

“I somehow doubt you’re from Xing,” Dante said in the least convinced voice Alex had ever heard.

“I pledged myself to the Princess’s service as her guide and vassal in Youswell. I was – uh – overwhelmed with emotion at being parted from her side.”

Dante stared at both of them. “And you striking her in the face mid-battle?”

Lyra kept her face straight. “I missed.”

“I see.” Dante exhaled. “You’re aware I don’t believe a word of this?”

“Unfortunately,” Mei said through the rictus of a polite smile.

Dante crossed her arms, staring at the two of them. Then she exhaled. “I am not one of those alchemy teachers who will tie myself into knots over the ethics of a lie. A well-placed lie at the right time can change a life, or topple an empire. And coming up with a good lie in the heat of the moment draws upon the same adaptability and skills as deciding what array to use, or what something is made of.”

Mei and Lyra exchanged uncertain glances.

“The two of _you_ need to get better at it. But you show promise. And I appreciate, in its own right, the bravery it takes to try attack a master in her own home. Temper that with some intelligence.” Dante reached forward and yanked the necklace from Lyra’s hand. “Three days. Then I decide whether you stay or not.”

Lyra gasped, then bowed again. “Thank you, thank you –“

“Thank your friend. And I suggest you apologize for that bruise on her cheekbone.”

“Ah. Yes.”

Dante turned her back on them, coming back up the stairs. Then she extended her hand to Alex. “You and I have some topics of our own to discuss, I believe.” The smile she gave looked so real –

- _something is wrong-_

-and knowing more couldn’t hurt.

_I can always leave,_ he reminded himself, as he walked onto her hand. It was only once he did so that he realized Fletcher had been _shaking._ Fletcher had been terrified for Lyra, and just hadn’t shown it. But he didn’t know what to do – so, as per usual, he filed it all away, watched as Mei took her pet possessively back from Envy with a suspicious glare, and waited until the right time.

* * *

Will still didn’t know how to act around Gracia. Hughes was easy. Hughes was – he’d known Hughes for so long that it was having his own weird uncle. Gracia was more complicated, in large part because he thought perhaps they _should_ be more comfortable with each other. A year ago, they had been. A year ago –

Will sighed, adjusting the casserole dish in his arms. “Are we feeding just the Colonel and Lieutenant, or the whole office?”

“That depends who’s there,” Gracia teased. “And how much of it _you_ eat.”

“Who says I-“ It did smell good. “Well, maybe a bit.”

It still hung between them, though. Before he ( _and Alex, don’t forget Alex,_ his treacherous brain supplied) had headed to Lior, he and Gracia had gotten into a fight. It hadn’t felt like a real fight, not at first. Just a comment that he’d taken the wrong way. But –

“I like the new outfit.”

“Is that just because there’s no skirt?” Damn his stupid mouth. He’d spoken without thinking, and he hadn’t thought it’d come out so – _mean._

But Gracia just looked embarrassed, keeping step with him but lowering her head. “I deserved that. I’m sorry.”

Oh. He hadn’t expected that. “I – I was being shitty, you don’t have to –“

“It’s been on your mind ever since, hasn’t it?”

It had, but what _hadn’t?_ “It’s not like you’re the first person to say something like that. Trust me, I’ve heard worse.”

“That makes it more terrible that I said it, not less.” Gracia took a deep breath. “I – I was scared.”

Will didn’t respond. The two of them kept walking down the Central boulevard – teenager and housewife, step by step. It was strange. He’d been there when Elysia was born. He’d been around Gracia’s house so _long._ He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her actually be vulnerable.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” she continued finally. “You were – hurt. Badly. Coming out of it, bit by bit, but it took time. Maes talked me into having you stay, and I’m glad he did, because I wasn’t sure what had happened. Even now, I only know bits and pieces of your life. And for some reason, I supposed that you were…” She shook her head. “No, you _are_ getting better.”

“News to me,” he grumbled.

“You _are._ ”

“So, what, you thought that as I got less crazy, I’d stop –“ Will caught the guilty look on Gracia’s face. “Are you _kidding_ me?”

“Maes told me off over it. I hadn’t really realized I believed that until he did.”

Will chewed on the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t sure if it made him _less_ angry to know. That was somehow fucking worse, wasn’t it? Be less of a psychopath, wear fewer dresses. Except – “ _Maes_ told you off? Really?”

“Oh yes. In his own way, too, which is really quite alarming. He does ‘I’m disappointed in you’ better than anybody I know.”

“He’s done it before.”

Gracia practically squirmed. “I have… made mistakes before. Including some comments to the Colonel that were _incredibly_ poorly-thought-out.”

“I’m not sure whether or not I want to know.”

“I was not aware at the time,” Gracia practically mumbled, “that Colonel Solaris is from West City. Or what part of it she is _from._ The comment about selling it back to Creta didn’t go over well even as a joke.”

Will couldn’t help it. He _laughed._

“Why – don’t _laugh_ at me!” Gracia smacked his shoulder, her cheeks pink.

He managed to get the laughter under control. “Do you know what a relief it is,” he said finally, “to know that adults are idiots too?”

She looked horrified by the statement, but then sighed, dropping her shoulders in defeat. “It’s true. We are. I just hope Maes and I can keep up the pretense for Elysia for long enough.”

Will paused on the street, and took a deep breath. “…You know I’m gay, right?”

Gracia blinked, and he realized he’d said that on a street full of people, suddenly flinching. Luckily nobody stopped, or cared. He hadn’t said it that loudly. Maybe. He hoped. Then she doubled back to stand next to him, easing him back into a walk. “I had assumed, yes. Between the clothing choices and your – ahem – relationship with Selim.”

“Everybody is telling me it was obvious,” he muttered.

“I suppose that means the actual coming-out part is easier. I think? Oh, I am very out of my depth here.”

“Don’t worry,” Will rolled his eyes, “I’m not looking for the ‘it’s okay to be gay’ talk.”

Gracia looked relieved – almost _too_ relieved, frankly. Bless her heart.

“I want –“ And then suddenly it _was_ hard to talk. Everything else was getting easier. But actually talking about things he wanted? Things that weren’t the Big Things he’d wrapped his whole identity around? “There’s this party. Gala. Event. Thing.”

“Phillip Armstrong’s retirement celebration.”

“Yeah. And, yknow, Jareth says I can go if I want. Er, the Lieutenant. I wouldn’t mind! But I don’t…dance.”

“You don’t know how?”

“I know how to dance with _girls._ I don’t…” Forget it. Talking about this was making his fingers go numb and his ears ring with how much he did Not Want To Talk About It. “We’re almost there, thank _god._ My arms hurt from this stupid casserole dish.” Dances were besides the point anyway. He had other shit to worry about, and he could probably get all sorts of shit taken care of while everybody else was busy.

They got into the elevator, and he could feel Gracia actively _not_ saying anything. “Just say it,” he snapped finally.

“I bought a dress for you a few weeks ago,” she said, and Will struggled not to drop the dishes he was carrying.

Ah.

He’d been expecting, uh, he didn’t know. Empty words of encouragement, _you can do it believe in yourself_ kind of thing.

Okay, maybe he really did believe her apology.

The elevator doors opened, and he strolled into the office, trying to look a lot more in control than he actually felt. “Alright, I brought you food, so you’d better like me-“ he said, putting the dishes down on the nearest desk, which happened to be Havoc’s.

Izumi Curtis stared him down from the open office door.

“Uh, yeah, so, boss?” Havoc said nervously. “You have a visitor.”


	7. Linework

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter include: implied past child abuse, violence, slightly wacky teacher/student dynamics, separation anxiety/sadness, smoking, age-gap/weird dynamic flirting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much like with the word Sveyati, Old Drachman snippets are once again stitched together from various Slavic languages. Posuderzač is ‘holder/possessor’ (derzhatel) from Russian and ‘vessel/container’ in the sense of dishes (‘posuda’) from Serbian, whereas grekhy is taken from various Slavic words for sin (greh/grek/grzech/etc.) with a Russian genitive ending.
> 
> Song is by Honest Heart Collective, an indie Canadian band!

**~7~**

_But it’s a little too late now  
We had to find our way…  
Though the ink may fade  
Our hearts stay the same_

_- **Linework**_

There was something intensely amusing, thought Diana, about watching Will’s face go white as he scrambled for the elevator –

“Don’t you DARE!” Izumi’s foot landed squarely on his back, pinning him to the ground with a ‘thump’. “Idiot apprentice!”

“Master Curtis,” Will mumbled into the carpet – and got stomped on again.

“ _Master Curtis._ Yeah, right! You called me Izumi for three years, don’t think being polite is going to get you out of trouble!”

“T-trouble? For what?”

“ _You sold your soul to the MILITARY?”_

“You know,” Jareth commented wryly, “I’m getting the feeling she doesn’t like us.”

“Should we be offended?”

“Let’s wait and see.” Jareth was standing next to her desk, leaning against the wall and trying to look casually amused. But she could see the twitch in his fingers which meant something was bothering him. It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together – she hadn’t met his father, but she’d seen the damage.

Izumi finally let Will up off the floor, and he spat some carpet fluff out of his mouth. Gracia was, smartly enough, making a quick exit, chatting with Fuery in another room. “You couldn’t have called ahead?”

“You couldn’t have told me where you _were?_ ”

“I was –“

“Where’d the automail come from?”

Will grabbed the sleeve of his shirt, trying to cover the metal fingers she’d seen.

“And where on _earth_ is your brother?”

And Will just went quiet.

Jareth took a step forward – Diana put a hand out. “Leave them alone,” she murmured.

“She showed up _here._ ”

“Looking for him.”

“But-“

“Jareth,” she said quietly, “how happy would you be to find out that your twelve-year-old student had joined the military? She’s _scared._ ”

He didn’t seem convinced, gritting his teeth.

“Well?” Izumi demanded. She was a surprisingly small woman, maybe an inch or two taller than Will himself, in a white sundress and sandals. She didn’t resemble any schoolteachers Diana had ever met, but to be fair, she’d never specified what _kind_ of teacher.

Will still didn’t respond. He’d shut down, refusing to look her in the eye.

The slap took them all by surprise. Diana didn’t realize she’d gotten up from her desk – she realized a heartbeat later that Breda had actually reached for his _gun._ Not the ideal response, no, but one that spoke volumes about the protective instinct the Elric brothers had fostered.

“You could have blocked that. I _know_ you could. So what’s-“

Jareth grabbed her by the back of her dress, hauling her into the air. “If you wanna keep whaling on a kid who’s not fighting back,” he growled, “you’re not gonna do it in front of me.”

She blinked. “Why, aren’t _you_ ever so strong.” Then she slid _out_ of the dress, and planted a foot in his stomach. He doubled over, only for her to kick him into one of the desks. Falman managed to get out of the way in time, watching mournfully as his paperwork scattered across the floor.

Will covered his face in horror. “…Izumi, did you _have_ to?”

“It’s a body. Everybody has one.” She retrieved her dress and pulled it back over her head. She’d been wearing a bra and underwear, sure, but that explained why she wore something so simple.

Well, enough was enough. Diana got to her feet, and snapped her fingers – carefully, with the kind of precise control she’d developed over years. One of the lightbulbs overhead burst with the sound of a gunshot.

“That’s quite enough,” she announced over the suddenly-quiet room. “Lieutenant, Ms. Curtis, Fullmetal, my office. The rest of you, back to work. Breda, help Falman get his desk back together.”

Jareth groaned as he pulled himself up from the floor. “I hate fighting women.”

“And I hate fighting easy targets. What’s your point?” Izumi shot back.

“You’re Will’s teacher?”

“Alchemy and martial arts teacher.”

“That…explains so much. Christ.”

Will groaned in the particular flavour of _stop embarrassing me_ that Diana had long ago learned to identify, and helped Jareth get to his feet. “Lieutenant Valjean, this is Izumi Curtis. Izumi, the Lieutenant is...”

“I’m _supposed_ to be the one who keeps him out of trouble.”

They all made it into Diana’s office, and she closed the door, listening to the bickering continue.

“Don’t interfere with me disciplining my student again.”

“There’s a difference between discipline and just fuckin – _hitting_ him!”

“May I offer,” Diana said, hoping her exasperation didn’t show _too_ much, “that discipline perhaps shouldn’t occur with an audience? It’s easy to mistake one for the other, especially when, Ms. Curtis, we _don’t know who you are.”_

Izumi actually did look a little uncomfortable at that one. Will seemed like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or sink into the floor.

She sat down in her chair. “My name is Colonel Diana Solaris. This is _my_ office, which I usually try to keep to some level of discipline. I’m Will’s commanding officer, which is why you were directed here.”

“He’s sixteen. He shouldn’t _have_ a commanding officer.”

“ _He_ is right here,” Will grumbled.

“I understand you’re looking for him and Alex both.”

“Yes,” she said, snipping off the end of the word. “You told me Alex was dead.”

Will started at that, then looked helplessly at Diana. She took that as a cue to continue.

“I apologize. Due to circumstances, we tell any stranger that. Alex is-“ She paused. _Fine_ wasn’t quite the right word. “Alex is alive, and currently absent.”

“I’m the one who got a call from the military, and you couldn’t have told me that?”

Shit. Well, that explained a lot. Diana scratched the patch between her eyebrows, trying to hide her sudden flush of embarrassment. “…I wish you’d introduced yourself as Izumi _Curtis,_ ma’am.”

“Did she kick down the door?” Will asked with a sigh.

“Yes. Also, you put your emergency contact as _Sig_ Curtis.”

Both Izumi and Will responded at the same time – “You called my emergency contact?” and “He put my husband instead of me?” and then turned to glare at each other.

“I can’t believe you kicked down the door,” Will groaned.

“I can’t believe you _joined the military._ ”

“Again, I apologize for the confusion. And for my Lieutenant’s _well-intended, but foolish_ intrusion.”

Jareth opened his mouth, probably to say something stupid like _I regret nothing,_ but Diana glared at him until he quailed, and said instead, “Sorry. Don’t like seeing adults hitting kids.”

Izumi relaxed a little at that, uncrossing her arms. “Noble enough.”

Diana took a deep breath. “Mrs. Curtis, I understand that you’d like some time with Will, but he’s currently convalescing. Can I offer you some quarters for the night?”

“Convalescing? He looks fine to-“

“I insist.”

Izumi seemed to pick up on the silent urging. “I’ll find my own hotel room. I’m not using military barracks.”

“Your choice, Mrs. Curtis.”

“Will, if you disappear between now and tomorrow, I am going to kick your ass so hard you won’t be able to sit down for a week.”

“Noted.”

“Lieutenant, would you show me the way out?” Izumi smiled sweetly at Jareth. It put Diana in mind of a shark. “It’s the least you can do for pulling my dress off.”

“I DID NOT – I –“

“Go ahead, Valjean,” Diana smirked. She’d pay for that later, but it was worth it for the look of panic on his face.

The two of them vanished, and once it was just her and Will in the room… she let her face dramatically fall onto the desk. The laughter from Will was sort of sweet, actually. It meant he was in a better mood than he let on.

“Oh, _what,_ am I supposed to feel bad for you? This is how everybody feels after _you’re_ done with them., you know.”

“No, I employ the tools of confusion and feminine wiles. That is entirely different.” She lifted her face from the desk and quietly rearranged her hair, resting her chin on her hands. “I am far too hungover and have slept too little to deal with your alchemy teacher being…”

“A tiny ball of rage, chaos and justice upon the world?” Will filled in.

“Yes. Also, good lord. So many questions have just been answered.”

“Are you implying something about me?”

“Not so much implication.” She looked him over with a small smile. He was… holding together better than she’d expected. Perhaps there was a point where you decided whether to die or keep living out of sheer spite, and he’d hit it. Or maybe she just had to keep being worried. “So, what brought you here in the first place? Not that I’m unhappy. Thank you for your timely arrival.”

“Gracia was making me carry food over. And I wanted to ask you about something.”

“Oh?”

“I was researching homunculi. Those things from the lab. There was something in one of the binders Sheska wrote out about them in Sveyati. That Old Drachman religion.”

Diana nodded. “Calling it Old Drachman is a bit strange. About half of Amestris practiced it at one point – there’s some Sveyana church ruins in the West and North.”

“Really?”

“They’re quite beautiful. Almost makes you forget how terrifying the religion itself can get.” She noticed how rapt Will was, and tried not to laugh. “Sveyati is – well, we mentioned the seven deadly sins. It was big on how in order to avoid eternal suffering, humans had to strive towards perfection. Sins were punishable with torture, both in this life and the next, and the definition of sins… varied.”

“How do you know all this – oh, Gracia said you grew up in West City!”

“I did, yes. I don’t know about how homunculi tie in with Sveyati belief, though.”

“The book I was reading said that homunculi were – shit, I can’t remember the word. I-“ Then he sprung up and opened the door. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit –“

“What?”

“I brought the binder with me, and I left it on Havoc’s desk. With the _food._ Which everybody is now eating. The binder is gone.”

Diana glanced over his shoulder, then played through everybody who had been in the office. “Your teacher took it.”

“WHAT?”

“You haven’t told her what she’s been up to. She wants to know. She probably doesn’t realize it’s just a copied out book and thinks it’s your notes.”

“That’s sneaky. I don’t like that,” he grumbled. “I mean, I’d do the same thing. But I don’t like that.”

She patted Will’s shoulder. “You can ask for it back tomorrow.”

“Oh, fuck that. I’m getting out of here-“

“ _Will._ ”

He glared at her, then glanced away, embarrassed. “How the fuck am I supposed to tell her that Alex _left?_ That I wasn’t –“ He swallowed, then shrugged. Diana realized she might have been misreading him. He wasn’t holding together, exactly. He was – holding on out of desperation. Lost. “She’s too late.”

That was… an unnerving choice of words. “Too late for what?”

He just shrugged. “I dunno. Alex was her favourite.”

Oh. Oh dear. She could fill in some of the gaps from there. “What Alex said to you was tremendously unfair-“

“No, it wasn’t. He didn’t lie about anything. He didn’t –“ Will sighed, pushing the curtain of hair back from his face. “I can’t blame him for leaving.”

She sat quietly, chewing over how to respond. She couldn’t, in good faith, tell Will that Alex had been _wrong_ about everything. That wasn’t the point. But Alex had been manipulated. That much was clear from how things had unfolded. And more pressing was how she was _not_ the one Will needed to hear this from. It’d slide off his back and leave nothing more than a faint impression. “…That gala.”

“Yeah?”

“You were invited, yes. I’m changing that to an order. You’re showing up or else.”

“ _What?_ Can you even do that?”

“I don’t know, but let’s find out. Now get out of my office.”

Will stared at her for a few more moments, then put on his best facsimile of an irritated face that didn’t quite hide the joy in his eyes.

* * *

He found Jareth outside, slouched on one of the benches with a cigarette stubbornly clamped between his lips. “…You’re chain-smoking again, huh?”

“Yes.”

“She’s not _that_ bad.”

“She wrangled the location of that retirement gala out of me and I think she’s planning to gatecrash. She’s terrifying. Also, my stomach still hurts.”

Will watched him for a little bit. His face still hurt, but Izumi was right. He could have blocked her at any point. He’d chosen not to. And he was terrified to tears to tell her how he’d screwed up – with the transmutation, with Alex, with all of it. There was a reason he hadn’t called her. He’d thought about it a few times, even talked to Alex about asking Izumi for help – but honestly, he thought she would want nothing to do with them.

He sat down next to Jareth. “Can I have one?”

“Absolutely not.”

Will stole one from Jareth’s pocket anyway, but didn’t light it – he fiddled with it between his fingers, nicotine rubbing off on his skin. “You don’t, um – I think yesterday was the most I’ve ever heard about you growing up.”

“Reason for that.”

“You got really protective of me. You didn’t have to.”

“Is this going somewhere?”

Will looked up at Jareth’s cranky face, the way his fingers were digging into his arms. “…Are you okay?”

Jareth started, and he looked down at him, warring emotions in his eyes. Then he chuckled, wrapping an arm around Will’s shoulders. “Look at you being all _thoughtful._ I’m fine, I’m fine. Just, like I said, I don’t like seeing adults whaling on kids.”

“I’m not _really_ a kid.”

“Yeah, but… is that how she taught you?”

Will tried not to enjoy the feeling of Jareth’s arm around him. “It’s complicated. But we signed up for it. Me and Alex. She’s rough on us, but it’s never more than we can handle, and the second it is, she stops. It’s… part of the deal.”

“Still seems wrong.”

“It’s all about her philosophy.” He put on a mock voice. “All is one and one is all! Learn from your mistakes! If it hurt this much to get wrong, you’re more motivated to get it right next time!”

“But you could leave at any time.”

“Yeah.” Will scratched his chin, wincing at he caught a fresh cut he’d forgotten about. “I don’t blame her for being upset. It’s –“

“If you say it’s your fault, _I’ll_ be the one to thwack you.”

Will raised a skeptical eyebrow at Jareth.

“Sorry,” he grumbled, still obviously grouchy. “It’s a nice philosophy, done right. Plenty of assholes out there. Oh, before I forget-“ He handed the binder back to Will. “Keep a closer eye on this. Izumi was flippin’ through it.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“Anything important?”

Will shook his head. “Some stuff about homunculi as – oh, there’s the stupid word. _Posudrzac grekhy._ The rest is stuff about making them out of twigs and bone.”

Jareth blinked. “Do you mean _posudrza_ _č?_ ”

“Oh, is that what the little hat means?”

“Shit, I’ve heard that before. At least separately? I’m not sure what they mean together.”

“You are not who I expected to know Drachman.”

“I know _pieces_ of it. West City has a lot of it, and Cretan isn’t that different from it either. You pick up weird things. _Grekhy_ or _grekha_ has something to do with sin, though.”

A chill ran down Will’s spine. “Like the seven sins?”

“Yeah. That’s where I know the phrase. _Siedem grekhy._ The other one I can’t place.”

Will frowned at the binder. “I feel like I’m going in circles. Are we dealing with Drachman spies, or a cult, or – what do they want with _Alex?_ ”

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s anything good.”

Will bonked his head against the binder. “…Part of me thinks maybe I should go home with Izumi and see what she can tell me. She can’t be away from home for too long. That’s why I was so surprised to see her.”

“Really?”

“She gets sick a lot. She must be _really_ mad at me.” His chest hurt. He didn’t like disappointing Izumi. “To come all this way without Sig or Mason…”

“She has every intention of dragging you back with her, if that helps.”

“Dammit, I _knew it!_ ”

Jareth chuckled, then snatched the unlit cigarette back from Will. “Gimme that. I enable you too much as it is.”

“Sure, sure.” Then Will yanked the cigarette from Jareth’s lips, and put it to his mouth, unable to resist the little smirk on his face.

Jareth’s cheeks went red. “…You’re a _brat._ ”

“Sure am. What’re you gonna do about it?”

…Oh, this was _fun._ Will had flirted with people before – usually Selim, to be honest, or total strangers while travelling. Alex had attempted to coach him through a disastrous flirting attempt with a girl in… where had it been? Youswell? It had given him two things – a ferocious slap across the face, and the stressful but somewhat relieving realization that nope, it was _just_ men he liked. Unfortunately enough for his future.

The point was, people always assumed he _didn’t know how._ He sure did. He just hadn’t ever gotten to try it on somebody older than him on purpose. Watching Jareth fight for a response? _Worth it._

Then, of course, Jareth leaned in. “Is that a dare?”

Eep. Okay, two could play. He took a drag on the cigarette, not breaking eye contact with Jareth –

-and got a finger jabbed in one of his recent bruises, mid-exhale. “OW FUCK- FUCK YOU-“

“You said it was a dare.” Jareth stole his cigarette back, snickering ceaselessly.

“My throat feels like an ashtray!”

“And that’s why you should quit.”

“ _Ugh._ ” Will stuck his tongue out mournfully. “Mean.”

“Says you.”

“What did _I_ do?”

“We’re not going there. Go home and get some rest. Gala’s in two nights.”

Will was ready to argue about how he hadn’t actually _said_ he was going, but it was getting dark anyway, and the Colonel _had_ ordered him to. “…Are you going?”

“Yeah. I wanted to take Sheska but I don’t think she likes those things.”

“You can’t take-? I guess she’s your superior officer.”

Jareth shook his head. “Have to keep up the image of being appropriate.” He sounded a little wistful at that, and Will didn’t blame him. He still found the whole thing… _strange._ A little gross. But it must’ve been awful, having to keep every part of their relationship a secret. “Seriously, get some rest. I think Maes has gotten it in his head he’s gonna teach you Viatjač dancing.”

“Oh god. Should I be worried?”

“It’s _probably_ fine.”

“I don’t trust that probably.” He got up, casting another shy look at Jareth. “G’night, Lieutenant.”

“Night.”

Will couldn’t quite keep the little skip out of his step for the first block home, pulling the binder close to his chest. It was so _stupid._ He was probably going to hate the stupid party. And it wasn’t like Jareth saw him as anything other than a stupid kid. But –

“I made him blush,” he whispered to himself, doing a tiny fistpump. “I-“ Then his heart sank as he realized he was just talking to himself. There was no lecture coming, or rolled eyes, or snickered laughter.

“Oh,” he said to the quiet street, coming to a stop.

Yeah.

Yeah, _now_ he wanted to cry.

_I’m not going to cry,_ he told himself. It was fine. He’d – he’d –

He’d do what? Become a better person and then Alex would come back? Jareth had said it himself. Whoever it was had Alex, they didn’t have good intentions. And Alex… had he joined them on purpose? Gotten kidnapped mid-argument? Was he being lied to?

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. Hearing it out loud helped, even as he blinked away tears.

He heard the footsteps behind him fast enough to wipe away his tears and try to get some composure together, but he wasn’t expecting Izumi to come up next to him. She’d acquired a cane somewhere, and he knew nobody else was around, because she was leaning her weight on it.

“I see the Lieutenant got that back to you.”

Will nodded, not trusting his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Izumi said quietly. “I was angry. And scared.” She kept step with him, although he slowed down to make sure she wasn’t pushing herself, and her words came out slowly and carefully. “I warned you two, a long time ago. You broke the taboo, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“What did the Gate take?”

Will stared up at her. He’d never heard anybody else talk about the Gate. Solaris had been convinced that it was a myth. “It – it took Alex’s body, and my leg. I gave my arm to bind him to that doll he was always carrying. It was the fastest thing I could think of.”

“A doll?”

“He hasn’t been tremendously happy with me over it,” he mumbled. “I panicked. I didn’t think about how _hard_ it would be, to move around, or – or do anything. I just wanted to save his life.”

“And you did. The Gate doesn’t give things back easily.” Izumi tapped a finger on the top of her cane. “I never told you what I was sick with, did I?”

“No.”

“I made the same mistake. Years ago. I thought I was good enough to challenge death itself. I wanted a baby, _so_ badly… and then when he was born…” Izumi sighed quietly. “He lived for ten minutes.”

“Izumi, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m the one who should be sorry. If I’d told you why I was so insistent, maybe I could have changed my mind.” She smiled. “And maybe I wouldn’t have chased you into the arms of the military.”

“Solaris and Valjean aren’t that bad. Really. And you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t trust _any_ military,” she grouched. “First female State Alchemist, my ass. First female alchemist baby-killer isn’t anything to be proud of.”

Will decided to let that one lie. What Solaris had shared with him about Ishval wasn’t his to share – although it meant he flinched a little internally. Izumi wasn’t _wrong._ The worst part was, he thought, Solaris probably agreed with her.

“Where is Alex now?” she asked. “I know we were going to wait until tomorrow, but… Will, I know you well enough. The two of you are _never_ apart for long. Probably bickering the whole time, yes, but you stick together.”

The tears were coming back, and Will tried to keep his voice steady. “He… He left.”

“He _left?_ ”

“We. We had a fight –“ He cleared his throat. “Remember when we were kids, you had to… tell me off a lot?”

“For many things. You’ll have to specify-“

“I’m not being funny. I’m talking about me being nasty to Alex.”

Izumi paused, then nodded. “You grew out of it. With some help. It doesn’t make you a bad person. You’d just lost your mother – both of you – and you didn’t really _have_ anybody to slap you out of the temper tantrums.”

Will thought that was giving him a little too much credit. Alex had always been smaller than him, and when he was annoyed at things, it was just so _easy_ to tell Alex that he’d done it, or that he was making things worse, pull at his hair – but Alex was Izumi’s favourite, and even if he hadn’t been, she didn’t put up with bullying. One of the reasons he’d been so startled when Jareth stepped in to defend him was that the first time he remembered getting hit by Izumi – properly hit, enough that it hurt – was when she’d caught him smacking Alex around. “You didn’t like that very much, did you?” she’d said, and that was the first time it’d gotten through his head. Not enough, apparently.

“I didn’t – I _try_ to be better, but I guess I wasn’t… doing a very good job? And we fought, badly. He said I was –“ He shrugged. “He said he was still afraid of me.”

“I see.” Izumi was being very quiet.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“What? No, no –“ She pulled Will in and kissed his forehead. “Fights happen. And the rest – you were a _kid._ It doesn’t go away, but it doesn’t mean you’re a bad person now.”

“I called him a girl,” he said miserably. “Not directly. I didn’t mean to. But it came out that way, and all I want to do is apologize, but I don’t even know where he _is._ Just that the people he’s with are dangerous.”

“He’s a smart kid. He might be angry, but I know he’ll find a way to tell you if – or when – he’s in trouble. And I don’t care _what_ size he is,” Izumi sighed, “I have never been able to keep him in one place. So he may come back on his own.”

“You think so?”

“I think it’s very likely. Not for _sure,_ no. But in the meantime…” Izumi looked him up and down. “I’m dragging you back to Dublith with me. I think you need a refresher.”

“Fine by me.”

“…I was expecting more of a fight.”

“As long as you let me research,” he said with a soft smile, “I’m happy.”

“Good. Let’s get you home first. Where are you staying?”

Back to Dublith for a while. That worked. And – Will hoped – if Alex ended up anywhere, scared, in need of help, Izumi’s house was the first place he’d go.


	8. Rabbits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: aforementioned lying/manipulation/culty tactics, injury/blood, objectification (in one case, of a person of colour), reflections upon racism and genocide, suicide reference, and aforementioned clumsy trans discussions + references to transmisogyny and homophobia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE WE GO HERE WE GO time for some Dante bullshit! I love her SO MUCH. 
> 
> This is going to be hard to put consistent trigger warnings on, but Alex’s arc from here on out is going to give off hardcore cult/grooming vibes. If that’s something that triggers you, please be very careful when reading Alex scenes (and scenes around the homunculi/Dante in general tbh). Child sexual abuse is also going to be coming up later, which I’ll be tagging the CRAP out of but… still, yeah, heads up. Also, there’s some more of the “clumsy conversations about transness” in this chapter. People talking about “girls wanting to be boys” and whatnot is very much like – intended as a reflection on 19th/early 20th century perspectives on gender. It can definitely be hard to read though, especially if you are Also Trans. Good intentions abound here – modern language conventions do not.
> 
> ‘Ayi’ means Auntie (specifically, mother’s sister) in Mandarin. Georgie’s accent is a very, very thick version of what Diana and Jareth sometimes lapse into – he’s more Scouser than they are, but same general accent. I… may put a translation of his dialogue in the footnotes if people ask for it. I have no actual gage on how thick that is. 
> 
> Song is by Our Lady Peace.

~8~

_Gonna join the resistance  
Gonna tighten that leash  
Try and find some persistence temporarily  
if it’s home that you’re missing  
better ramp up your speed_

_- **Rabbits**_

He had been seven, Alex remembered, the first time he’d been to Dublith. It had all been terribly _exciting,_ really – the first speck of hope since Mom had died, or even since she’d gotten sick. Neither he nor Will had ever been outside of Rizenbul – everything from the train seats to Izumi’s appraising questions to the city sprawl they’d walked out into was new.

It looked different to him now, looking out of the mansion window from Dante’s shoulder. It was still a _city,_ but a small one, made more of stucco and plaster than Central’s bricks and concrete. No smokestacks, no electric lights, and just as many horses mixed in with the traffic as there were cars. But it still reminded him of Izumi.

_For all I know, she’s dead,_ he thought miserably. He wanted to blame Will for the idea not to contact her, but it wasn’t like he’d pushed back terribly hard.

“So,” Dante said, setting him down like a bird on her desk, “a boy without a body. Pride told me about you, but I don’t think I really believed him until now.”

Alex nodded stiffly. “I, uh…”

“You needn’t attempt a lie. You’re hardly any better at it than those fools downstairs.” She smiled as she said it, eyes crinkling at the corner. “You broke the taboo, didn’t you?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“There are very few ways in which one can become a bound soul. Most require a level of – hm – intent?” She folded her fingers under her chin. “It’s a very easy way to create a slave. You, however… there’s no master behind you pulling the strings. Plus,” she added, “if I was trying to create something for stealth, I would have chosen something with a little more mobility than a child’s doll.”

“Trust me, it was not my first choice either.”

“Oh, I doubt it. Plus, there’s the little matter of your alchemy.” Her eyes sparkled at that. “You’ve seen the Gate and spoken to its Keeper.”

His spine prickled, or did something like it. “Yes.” Then – “Shit, is that how-?”

“Language. But you’re correct.”

That made _sense._ Will remembered the Gate; until recently, he hadn’t. But… “I didn’t remember. Until recently. What changed?”

“Unfortunately, there’s a reason bound souls like yours aren’t common. Blood seals are tricky things at the best of times. They work the best on iron, although technically you can bind a soul to anything carbon-based. May I see yours?”

That seemed like a bad idea. But at the same time… “Just don’t touch it,” he grumbled. He took the thin piece of fabric off his forehead, exposing the tiny blood seal.

“Oh my goodness.” Her face came close to his. “I’ve never seen one so _small._ ”

“My brother was eleven. Small hands.”

“Your br- ah. Yes. Pride did mention him. Not the most pleasant fellow, by most accounts.”

The urge to defend Will rose up in Alex’s throat – stifled by the image of Will’s furious face as he stood over him. _-is that what this is about, you little fuck-_ “You don’t know the half of it.”

“I think I can figure out a better body for you.” Dante sat back in her chair. “Envy,” she called out, “I know you’re listening in.”

The door opened, and Envy, shamefaced, walked in. He’d bequeathed Xiao Mei back to its owner, it appeared, although Alex could still see a little dusting of fur on his arms. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“I thought you’d be better at this by now. Take off your shirt.”

Envy went a little pink. “Er. Yes, ma’am.” He pulled the black tank-top over his head with a touch of difficulty.

Alex couldn’t help but be a little embarrassed for him, but the alchemy nerd in him managed to override the lingering dismay. Envy’s chest was a bare expanse of white, with no nipples and only slight muscle definition.

Envy caught him staring, and with a cheeky grin, added, “Pride drew some on once with a marker.”

“Of course he did,” Dante sighed. “More to the point – I know you can’t feel it, but Envy’s skin feels real. The giveaway is that he doesn’t have a heartbeat. That’s because he doesn’t have a heart, or blood.”

Envy nodded quietly, although the embarrassed flush hadn’t quite gone away. How was he doing that, Alex wondered, if he didn’t have any _blood?_

“You brought a Red Stone with you, correct?”

“Yeah, Envy’s been holding on to it for me.”

She chuckled. “And you’ve been resisting it? Good boy. Go ahead. Show Alex why you took that briefcase.”

Alex watched as Envy took the Red Stone out of his pocket, and eyed it with a strange, greedy expression. No, not greedy – _hungry._ Then, upon being given permission, he devoured it in one gulp, the little bloom of red visible through his pale skin as it travelled down his throat.

“Oh, chew your _food._ ”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Hungry.”

Holy shit. Holy shit, alright, this put a lot of things into perspective. Pride and Envy hadn’t stolen the briefcase because of a conspiracy – they’d gotten them out of the hands of the military who used them as weapons, because they needed them to _eat._ And –

“I thought those were toxic?”

“They are to the human body, but more to the point, they’re only toxic if you _use_ them wrong. They’re not intended as alchemic amplifiers – or at least, not like that.” Dante took Envy’s hand in hers and pressed a fingernail to the back of his hand, until he winced and a little bit of red liquid bubbled up, turning into a half-moon crystals on the surface of his skin. “Unlike his brothers and sisters – who you’ll meet in due time – Envy is made without any human flesh at all.”

“A homunculus.”

“Correct. I can make you a body like his – without disturbing that blood seal. Immortal, fast-healing, and it can look however you want it.”

_No more Lexie._ It was tempting. And… he thought ruefully about the parents he didn’t even know, the mother he barely remembered, the father he only remembered the leaving shadow of. He didn’t have to look like them, or Will, or anybody. He could be anybody he wanted.

“Homunculi are forbidden. Why?”

“Oh, very simple. The powers that be prefer to keep power in _their_ hands.”

“And creating life doesn’t scare you?”

The corner of Dante’s mouth twitched. “I’ve had multiple children. Childbirth is far more terrifying than simply assembling some ingredients. Besides, we aren’t talking souls here. No metaphysics, no religion, no philosophy. Just bodies, and the simple chemistry of them, which is a far easier task.” 

Alex nodded, still taking it in. “…You’re offering me a body,” he said quietly, “but I still don’t understand _why._ ”

“You applied as an apprentice. I accepted you.”

“Envy and Pride sought me out.”

Clearly realizing that he wasn’t going to be dissuaded with a simple answer, Dante flicked her eyes at Envy, then back to him. Then she closed her eyes, exhaling. “I… know, personally, and deeply, what it’s like to be the second string. The woman behind the man – or the man behind the man, in your case. The dynamics, strangely, don’t seem to differ much. Whether they’re ordering you about like a slave or simply forgetting you exist, it’s hard to remember the very, very simple truth behind their lies.” She opened her eyes, and they were full with a strange sympathy. “You are _better than them._ ”

Alex tried not to hear it. Part of him kept insisting – _this’ll show Will and when I go back he’ll treat me better and everything will be better –_ but it wasn’t just about Will. Was it? It was about the military, and the massacre that had been hidden from them, and the desperation as he watched people he wanted to love change before his eyes. The Colonel and Lieutenant had done so much for him-

- _but if I was Ishvalan? If I’d been louder, more aggressive, about when I disagreed with them?_ Will had gotten away with plenty, but he’d been punished in his own ways. The therapist was just as much a shock collar as it was treatment. Sit down and behave like the other dogs. And if the military had really cared so much about Will getting help…

_It never should have been my responsibility._ The whole thing was broken. Any place that tricked a twelve year old into signing his life away was broken. Any place that tricked his brother into watching him self-destruct without an ounce of real support was broken.

“Pride says you’re working against the Amestrian government,” he stated. He knew it sounded brash. It _was_ brash.

“That’s correct.”

“I need time to think about it. The body thing. But if you want my help with tearing down the military… yeah, I’m in.”

Dante grinned, flashing her white teeth at him. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

* * *

“Ah, Colonel Solaris, just the person I was hoping to see. And aren’t _you_ looking beautiful today-“

“Fuhrer,” she responded from her desk, just a little curtly. She still hadn’t figured out how to tell Will about the whole Lior fiasco. As far as she was concerned, it wasn’t his fault, and therefore, wasn’t his business. Besides, the Colonel hadn’t _knocked,_ and put her in a terrible position as a result.

“Oh, you don’t seem particularly excited to see me.”

“Your visits are always a joy, Fuhrer Mustang.” She looked up from her paperwork, and immediately wished she hadn’t. He had that _stupid grin_ on his face. “I apologize. I despise incident reports.”

“And yet your office always seems to produce more than most,” he quipped, although she couldn’t even take that one personally. That was on Will. “Excited for tomorrow?”

“I’m not a party person.”

“I suppose you’re far more used to being the entertainment.” Before she could decide how offended to be – or what exactly he was insulting her for – he continued, “And the Beast?”

“Still in the dark. Fullmetal had a second run-in with it. Unfortunately he’s being a little cagey on details.”

“Is he, now?” Mustang’s smile didn’t budge. “Well, that’s a shame.”

“I’m hoping that the continued investigation of the Lab 5 collapse will bring some clues.”

“I need a little bit more than hope and well-wishes, Colonel.” For a moment, she could see the _actual_ stress behind his pretty face. “Either you’re lucky and the Beast died in that collapse or shortly afterwards… or it attacks again, and you face the consequences.”

He knew more than he was letting on about the Beast. It was obvious. The Beast hadn’t even killed anybody since East City – but he was still fixated on finding and killing it. _Him._ An Ishvalan man.

“Sir…” she said carefully, and then in a tone of confidence, “ _Roy._ ”

He blinked in surprised at the use of his first name. It was the highest disrespect to address the Fuhrer by his first name, here, in a military setting – but it was just the two of them. But it was a gamble. He did seem to like her, after all – but who knew with Mustang?

“I can’t do much with the information I have. But off-the-record… somebody made the Beast, didn’t they? One of those off-record things from the war we aren’t supposed to talk about.”

He narrowed his eyes at her – then sighed, running a white-gloved hand through his hair. For a second, he looked younger than her, the wrinkles so sparse they barely registered. “You know this is in breach of so many protocols?”

“I’m not like your other Colonels. I’m one of the _two_ ex-Black Ops you have left who isn’t missing, dead, crazy, or in prison.” There had been eight of them in total. Only eight – and so much damage to account for between them. “I’m not about to cry out in anger at war crimes that are long done and over with, but I _do_ need to know how the Beast was created. It regenerates, it’s faster than any man I’ve ever known…”

Roy eyed the empty chair. She extended an inviting hand, offering it up to him. “You are _terribly_ lucky you’re so cute,” he groaned as he sat down.

“You like me for my brain, too,” she teased.

“That brain’s going to get you in trouble. But I suppose I can trust you.”

_Good,_ she thought ruefully, because her memory was taking her to places she’d rather not be. But she had to keep it up. “So what is it? Really? The Beast?”

“A homunculus.”

She almost slipped – remembered to sound confused by the term. “A homunculus?”

“You must have run across them when learning about alchemy. Artificial humans. It isn’t even Ishvalan at all – that’s just the skin it stole.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “So somebody during the war was creating homunculi-?”

“Amestris, officially, had nothing to do with it. I certainly didn’t approve of it. It’s just as possible that the Ishvalans created it in some sort of revenge.”

“The Ishvalans don’t use alchemy.”

“Oh, they’re not beyond hypocrisy. Nobody is. They just call it _divine acts_ instead.” Roy smiled thinly. “I do know homunculi are – extremely hard to kill.”

“You claimed fire would work.”

“That’s correct. There are very few things that can survive being incinerated. I’m no alchemist, but I know that whatever binds it together is not infallible. Otherwise the homunculi of old would still be around today.”

_No alchemist, huh? You sure sound like one._ “That leaves me largely where I started.”

“Join the club. But at least now you’re aware that human logic, human reasoning, won’t work on it. Hunt it down like an animal, because it is.”

Her stomach turned. She’d almost, _almost_ let herself like him. _He’s talking about a homunculus,_ part of her urged. The rest of her couldn’t make the correlation between that and an Ishvalan man without wanting to retch. “Noted, sir.”

“So!” The exhaustion fled from his face. “When do I pick you up tomorrow?”

Ugh. Right.

Well, she wanted to keep up the act. “Six sharp,” she said, putting on the most sincere smile she could imagine.

The moment he was gone, she pushed her chair out from the desk. “I’m so sorry. I think I kneed you in the head once or twice there-“

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” groaned the boy who’d been beneath the desk. “Lemme out, yeah? He seems right fit but I see why y’don’t like ‘im.”

“Careful, you’re going to make me lose my accent,” Diana retorted with a half-smile. “I’ve already gone Western on a few people lately.”

“Not my fault, innit?” He straightened up, dusting lint off his colorful outfit. “Don’t get a cob on just cause I spied you and your fella.” He wiggled his eyebrows, clearly joking.

“He is _not –_ bloody hell, Georgie, just get to it!”

“Knew I could get it outcha. Chris bet me a tenner.” Georgie leaned on the desk, his pageboy cap hiding his long hair and suspenders a bright red against his white button-up. Those were the most normal things he had on – under the white shirt was a tight spaghetti-strap top, and the boots he wore were leather, with two-inch heels and straps that tied them to his leg. He had fishnets on under his shorts, as well – the kind of outfit that advertised, clearly, what Georgie did for his work. “A’ight, we were talkin’ about your boyo.”

“Will. Yeah. What did Ayi say?”

His face dropped a little. “Ah, well, you know Chris. Lots of hemmin’ and hawin’. No basic answers when it comes to gender. I mean, you know me.”

“I do, yes. A girl in the sheets, a boy in the streets.”

“An’ my clients like it like that. Call me a boy when they’re in me and everythin’ because what they _want_ is to fuck a boy who looks like a girl.”

“Lovely clients that they are,” she quipped, but Georgie waggled a finger at her.

“Plenty of ‘em are lovely! The ones that aren’t get a knife to the shin and a stern Auntie lecture.”

“As they should. What about girls who want to be boys?”

Georgie shrugged. “See, most of ‘em just _pretend._ Plenty of men walkin’ around with bandages on their tits and socks shoved in their drawers. And I’ve had a few clients like that. They drop trou and it’s all bits and clits instead of –“

“I get the picture,” she interrupted. The less she had to think about Alex’s ‘bits’, the better. Or Will’s, for that matter.

“Sorry, sorry. I don’t _mind_ n’ all. But as far as actual….procedures, Chrissy says she dunno. And one thing she does know – it’s one thing to be a girl dressin’ up and playing at being a man. It’s quite another to be a man in a dress.”

“Just Chrissy saying that?” she asked slyly. Georgie shrugged, an uncharacteristic squirm going through his shoulders.

“I’ve been Georgia outside the brothel, er, _once._ Was kinda nice until some bloke caught on and threatened me with a gun. Got back inside right quick.”

“I’m sorry.”

Georgie cheered up again, and poked her thigh with a boot. “Oi, lighten your grid. Hurry up and become the boss instead of _that_ gobshite and I’ll be all made up. Can’t see Empress Diana puttin’ up with that shite.”

“Empress Diana?”

“Sounds better than Fuhrer, hey?”

She chuckled. “We’ll see. And the other thing from the letter?”

“I dunno ‘bout your code, Di. You _sure_ about-“

“Let me guess, you’re questioning the description.”

“Ey, ey, ain’t questioning your needs. Just makin’ _sure._ A doll?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “He’ll probably move around when he thinks you’re not looking – or just say fuck it and introduce himself. You never really know with him.”

“Oh, so it’s an ‘ _im,_ yeah?”

“Very much so.”

Georgie shrugged. “I never know what you’re up to half the danged time, but keepin’ watch out for a talking doll is new even for you. But ‘ey, as Empress Diana orders-“

“Oh, _stop._ ”

“Not til it’s true! Now,” he sighed, “I guess we’re onto the _fun_ part, yeah?”

“Afraid so.” Diana turned Georgie around, clasped a pair of handcuffs onto his wrists, and slid a lockpick under his tongue. “Don’t swallow it again,” she reprimanded.

“That was once!”

“Once is too many times.” Then she slammed open the door, frogmarched Georgie out and handed him to Havoc – who just sighed and murmured quietly, “Please don’t kick me in the face this time.”

“Get your damn hands off me, you filthy pigs!” Georgie began to yell. Dramatically. Not for the first time.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Diana watched him go, struggling not to laugh at his performance. She owed her Ayi a visit, but who knew when that was going to be? And… she sighed. At least the Elrics weren’t the _only_ ones. She just wanted more for them – _both_ of them – than the life she’d deliberately left behind. She didn’t doubt there’d be sex workers even in a perfect country, but Amestris was far from it, and she couldn’t help but wonder how her life – or Georgie’s, or anybody else’s – would have been different with more options.

_Don’t worry about it too much,_ she reminded herself. What was done was done. And now she had –

- _ugh._ She’d really agreed to go to the stupid gala with Roy Mustang.

_Just keep thinking about being called Empress Diana. That’ll keep the smile on your face._ There was no better way to get through a date you were dreading than plotting said man’s downfall, really.


	9. Show Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter include: transphobia (like previously, clunky gender terms, misgendering, etc. – 1914, folks), implicit transmisogyny threat, anti-Asian racism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *nervously fiddles* Okay, this one is much more clearly trans escapism than like. Everything else in the story. But you know what? That’s okay, because this is my story, and this felt good to write. Plus, it’s – I don’t know, a lot of parts of FMA make for incredibly trans narratives on their own. This is just taking it that extra step.
> 
> A brief acknowledgement though; there’s a heavy focus in trans communities on passing, and some of this chapter kind of plays into that. It’s kind of hard to avoid in a historical context like this one, and I do want to reassure trans (ESPECIALLY transfemme readers) that I’m not trying to like – put the value of somebody’s transition or identity on how well they pass. Diana, like everybody else, has got some implicit biases of her own.
> 
> Song is from Frozen II, sung by Idina Menzel.
> 
> THE ABSOLUTELY INCREDIBLE MIND-BLOWING ART is by VioVayo! https://viovayo.tumblr.com/comms Vio also did the art of Will back in part one, and looking at the two pictures together is breathtaking. (That's on CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT, BABY!) Also, straight up, when Vio finished this and showed it to me, I ugly cried, like, a lot.  
> 

~9~

_Show yourself – I’m dying to meet you  
Show yourself – it’s your turn  
Are you the one I’ve been looking for all of my life?  
Show yourself – I’m ready to learn_

_- **Show Yourself**_

It was six in the evening on June the fifth; not coincidentally, the date that Phillip Armstrong had received special commendation for his actions in the Cretan Border War, a date Diana only knew because her ex had never stopped talking about it. Mustang wasn’t late yet, but he was perilously close to being – and she couldn’t stop worrying about other people.

That, and she was starting to realize she was out of practice when it came to actual events. She knew she looked good. She had her hair up in a carefully-arranged bun, strands of curled hair falling around her cheeks, and while she wasn’t foolish enough to go anywhere without gloves, the black opera gloves she had suited the new dress just as much as the old one. The illusion neckline wasn’t her favourite, but Jareth had raised the very fair point that her ‘little black dress’ was starting to show its age. And this one had _sparkles._

The truth was, she couldn’t quite get away from the panicked feeling that she was supposed to be doing something _more._ It wasn’t just about Alex. It was a constant feeling – that she was falling behind, under-performing compared to all the other Colonels. It was a high rank. She should be proud of it.

_And yet, I’ve accomplished very little,_ she sighed internally. That probably wasn’t fair. She was a whole twenty-nine years old. That was ten years younger than the male Colonels. And she’d been warned, hadn’t she-? That her job was going to be to tear down the roadblocks for other people.

_Bullshit. I want to get my own work done._

There was a knock at the door, and she opened it, fastening a smile on her face – that swiftly turned into a surprised, genuine one.

Mustang gave her a shy smile. “I apologize for my lateness. I happened to run into a florist.”

“Uh huh. Just _happened._ ” And he’d _just happened_ to find lilies. He’d probably ordered Jareth to tell him. She took the bouquet from him with a smile, and he plucked one from the bouquet before she placed it in the kitchen. When she came back to the door, he slid it behind her ear.

“There you go. A little colour to break up all that black.”

“I’m very flattered,” she said, unable to quite hide the blush, “but I know when I’m being buttered up, Fuhrer, sir.”

He offered his arm and walked her down to the car. Miss Hawkeye was sitting in the front, clearly their chauffeur for the night. “I’ll be honest, Diana. I think I behaved rather badly during our last date. No wonder you’ve been less than patient with me asking for another.”

She raised an eyebrow at him.

“All that asking you to call me Roy, and then I threw politics in your face. Not to mention your, er, _interesting_ subordinate.”

“Is this your way of apologizing?”

“It’s a somewhat feeble attempt at it. You called me by my first name the other day and as it turns out, I quite enjoy the sound when I’m not worrying about things best left to chance.”

_Does that mean he’s pulling troops out of Lior?_ She wondered. “Well, that’s very sweet of you.”

He rubbed the back of his head as he opened the door for her. “I will admit, I practiced it on Miss Hawkeye on the way over. You’ll notice she looks terribly unimpressed with me.”

“Oh no, sir,” came Hawkeye’s very tired-sounding response from the front. “It’s a lovely speech.”

He slid in next to her. He looked rather dapper tonight, too, and again she was struck with that feeling that he looked _younger._ A man in his prime, instead of his sixties, with a well-fitting suit and a bowtie with –

She reached forward and used a finger to push the bowtie design into better view. “Is that-?”

“Ah. Yes.” He looked a touch embarrassed. “I lost a bet.”

“With _who?_ ”

Hawkeye coughed, before putting the car in gear. Diana released the bowtie, unable to stop the smirk. “I didn’t take you for a dog person.”

“Oh, I _love_ dogs! Dogs embody loyalty, perfect obedience – they follow their master’s commands above all else! Be a jerk to them and they don’t complain, and they never, _ever_ complain about their paycheck!”

Diana covered her mouth with a hand, trying to decide whether to laugh or quietly let herself out of the car. An exasperated sigh came from the front of the car.

“And this is why he isn’t allowed to _have_ one.”

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

“Sir, somebody has to. Hence the dog-bone bowtie.”

“I just hope you don’t think of your soldiers that way,” Diana said, her cheeks hurting from trying to suppress the smile.

“Of course not. You can’t _pet_ soldiers. And they get annoyed when you try to put leashes on them.”

“Uh. Miss Hawkeye, is he-“

“Yes, he’s joking. I think.”

The gala itself was apparently being held at –

Oh dear.

Diana tried not to look too dismayed, but Mustang – _Roy –_ gave her a shrewd look. “It is a shame, really,” he said, to nobody in particular, “that the oldest Armstrong child couldn’t get away from her duties in Briggs-“

“Oh, I see.” She chose her words carefully. _Technically,_ that was a secret.

“A shame, but also, I’d prefer that my top brass didn’t get into fights with each other during a party.”

She felt herself turn a little pink. “I assure you, General Armstrong and I are- Oh, never mind. You know everything, apparently.”

“It’s my job to have eyes everywhere, dear.”

She rankled despite herself at being called dear – and noticed, in frustration, that her guard _had_ slipped. It didn’t matter how sweet or charming Mustang was. He was still the Fuhrer. And –

She remembered, suddenly, the burn scars that hadn’t completely faded on Will’s arms. That was what was bothering her. He’d apologized for the _date._ Not for that. It showed whose life he cared about – and whose opinion.

Perhaps it was a good idea that Will was getting out of Central for a while.

She took Mustang’s hand, and allowed her to be led up the steps. The man at the ballroom doors gave the two of them a glance, then bowed, before calling out, “Fuhrer Roy Mustang, and Colonel Diana Solaris!”

They came to the edge of the stairs, and Diana watched with a little too much joy as every face in the room turned towards her. _That_ was what West City could never have given her, not safely, not the way she wanted. Everybody knew who she was.

They walked down the stairs, and Mustang leaned in, whispering, “We make a rather dazzling couple, don’t we?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Mustang.” It was a beautiful event. There was a small stage set up in the far end of the ballroom, with a jazz band playing subdued classical music. She knew they were a jazz band because no classical group had a double bass – and she could probably bribe them to play some dirty music later. The chandelier above them was lit up in all of its glory, casting shimmering lights on the clustered groups of military-and-adjacent people below. There wasn’t a single uniform to be seen – pressed civilian suits and dresses ruled the night, and it was a lovely change.

“It appears I’m the first of my squad here,” she commented.

“Oh, they’ll be along.”

And almost on cue –

“Lieutenant Jareth Valjean and Mrs. Izumi Curtis!”

She almost tripped, and managed to hide it by tightening her grip on Mustang’s arm. “Not… what I expected.” She glanced up at the top of the stairs. Jareth looked – a little shell-shocked, honestly. Although his suit, as usual, looked lovely. Izumi had changed out her sundress for a simple white-tulle sweetheart dress. Not quite appropriate for an _evening_ event, but Izumi was from Dublith, and had also casually undressed herself in Diana’s office, so that seemed in character. She _did_ look lovely.

“Er. Izumi Curtis, hm?” Mustang seemed nervous all of a sudden.

“Do you know her?”

“Only in passing,” he said, seemingly shaking it off. The moment Izumi came face to face with Mustang, however –

“Cousin!”

“I was afraid of this,” Mustang grumbled, and tried to make his escape – but Diana held him fast.

“No, no, Roy,” she teased, and waggled her hand at Jareth, who was mouthing _Roy???_ at her with consternation, “do explain.”

“We don’t even know each other,” he complained.

“Sure we do!” And Izumi – the inappropriately-dressed, Southern alchemy teacher from the sticks – put her hand confidently on Mustang’s shoulder.

Mustang quietly closed his eyes. “We have met _twice._ ”

“I’m sorry, can somebody clue me in?” Jareth asked in barely-suppressed horror. “Did we know about this?”

“No, you definitely didn’t,” Mustang grumbled. “My dear, aging, wonderful aunt is Izumi’s mother.”

“I wasn’t aware you _had_ an aging aunt.”

“I try not to advertise my few living relations. For _their_ benefit,” he added, glaring at Izumi.

“Oh, you don’t have to protect me! Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you. Much.” Izumi patted his cheek, and then wandered off – towards, Diana noticed, the wine and cheese table.

“Someday,” Mustang grouched, “I’m going to murder that woman. Uh, figure of speech,” he added in slight panic. “Why on earth is she _here?_ I thought she was teaching brats how to sit on poles in the South somewhere.”

“She is apparently Fullmetal’s teacher,” Diana clarified – and was stunned to see how the colour drained from the face. It was slight, not the kind of thing she would have noticed if she hadn’t been paying such close attention.

“…I see. Interesting. I suppose that explains his bad manners. It, however, does not excuse mine. Shall I get you a glass of wine.”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” she smiled – and exhaled as he left her with Jareth. “Just when I think the world can’t surprise me.”

“Hypocritical bitch,” Jareth grumbled. “Talked my ear off all the way here about how much she hates the military.”

“Be fair. We hate the military and we _are_ the military.”

“Not like she does. I think she’d gladly kill of us barehanded.”

“And yet,” Diana reached forward to adjust Jareth’s tie, “you are her date, somehow.”

“Her _escort._ Companion. Something. I don’t know, she talks fast and it was that or she was going to invite herself and cause trouble for everyone.”

“What about your little mousey librarian?”

Jareth shook his head. “Was gonna, but then I figured best not. She still isn’t _talking_ to me, you know.”

“Aka, you chickened out. Again.”

“I’m not gonna _harass_ her!”

Mustang returned with the glasses of wine. “Lieutenant, I’m afraid this other one is for you. It appears there’s some business I must attend to.”

“So soon?”

“I know! I didn’t even get to try the canapes.” He bowed slightly to her. “Hopefully we can pick this up again another time.” He made his exit, and Diana led Jareth over to the wall near the band, where they could have a little privacy. She sagged quietly against the wall.

“Please tell me-“

“It’s all still platonic, don’t worry,” she exhaled. “I will only debase myself _so_ far for information and contacts. It’s strange. He’s… rather personable, at times.”

Jareth crossed his arms. “Don’t start. You’re going to get me jealous.”

“Of me, or him?”

He leaned in, clearly unable to help himself as his voice gusted over her ear. “Nice try. You know if I could, I’d be dancing with you in front of everybody.”

“Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.”

“I’m closer to a fool than an angel and you know that.”

Diana just smugly sipped on her wine – then looked back up at the stairs to see who else was arriving, and immediately jabbed an elbow into Jareth’s side.

“What-?” Jareth glanced up at the door, and nearly spat out his wine.

“Lieutenant-Colonel Maes Hughes, and, uh –“ The usher double-checked. “Major William Elric!”

For three years, Diana had quietly been… _aware_ that her youngest subordinate had unusual interests. It wasn’t even about him being gay. That part had been more obvious from stolen glances she’d caught than anything else, and her conversation with Georgie had solidified that who you had sex with and who you _were_ were very different things. Not that she needed reminding, an ex-whore who dated women and men alike.

It would have been petty, and oversimplifying at that, to claim that Will was like a teenage girl. He _wasn’t,_ and besides, that implied that teenage girls had much in common with each other. The skirts and long hair had never been particularly subtle. They’d been the kind of thing you did to look weird, to stick out, and it was just that your choices about that said plenty on their _own._ But Georgie had talked about the whole thing like there was no choice, no option, but to be a “man in a dress”. That if you were a boy or a man who liked women’s clothing and got awkward and fidgety every time somebody implied you were feminine, that was just… all you got.

The girl on Maes’s arm, making her careful but confident way down the broad marble steps, clearly had _some_ idea how good she looked. But Diana wasn’t sure if she understood, truly, the difference between the scrappy, skinny teenager who threw their weight around in skimpy clothing, and the woman in the black lace dress who had turned sixteen today. The dress had three-quarter sleeves, fluttered in chiffon around the gloves that only betrayed in a few grooves the automail underneath, and a brocade train that Will – darling – had figured out how to hold up, but not _quite_ how to walk around. Will had left her hair purple, gathered to one side and falling in gentle waves over her shoulders, put a purple choker around her neck with a quartz crystal in it, and matching crystals in her ears, and –

-and _Christ,_ Diana was _jealous._ And impressed, and slightly frightened, and worried out of her mind.

“Jareth.”

He didn’t respond, and she glanced up. He was staring, openly, and blatantly, and she realized with dismay that it wasn’t _quite_ the parental look she’d been hoping for – or reading him as beforehand. _Be fair,_ she thought. _Anybody would be taken a little off guard._ So she stomped on his foot.

“Ow!”

“He’s going to be in a world of trouble in about six seconds if we don’t run interference.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Silence filled the ballroom. Even the band had mysteriously ended their song and not started the next yet – and Diana could see Will squirming slightly as he got to the bottom of the stairs. He liked attention, but the crowd was going to decide in a few moments whether or not it was the good or the bad kind. Men didn’t just waltz into military events wearing dresses. It was tantamount to an attack on Philip Armstrong’s masculinity directly – if anybody got that far.

So Diana handed her drink to Jareth, and strode through the crowd. “Will! I’m so glad you made it!” She opened her arms, pulled him into a light embrace, and kissed both cheeks. “You look _lovely,_ dear.”

“What? You’re never this nice to me,” Will whispered in confusion.

“This is what civvie girls do.”

“Oh.” Beat. “ _Oh._ ” And there was the blush. “D-do you like it? Gracia – er, Mrs. Hughes got it for me.”

“ _Did_ she now?” Diana raised an eyebrow at Maes, who grinned.

“She also gave him a couple crash courses in how they work. Turns out finishing school was good for something.”

The crowd was rumbling, military folks looking at each other and coming to quick judgements. Piss off the Flame Alchemist, or defend Phillip Armstrong’s honour? And – to her great relief – she was recognizing more faces, too. Lots of queers, to put it bluntly. The military was full of them, which didn’t necessarily mean they wouldn’t throw Will under the bus, but…

“Man,” came a lone voice from the crowd, “if I’d known we were allowed to wear dresses to these things, I’d have worn one!”

And all the tension broke into laughter. Will looked a little hurt at first, and then caught on fast, sniping back, “You’d only look _half_ as good as me!”

Everybody drifted off back to their groups, and the band picked up the music again. Once the crowd cleared a little, Diana saw why Will hadn’t taken it personally. Joey Davidson was standing awkwardly on the dance-floor.

Well, why not? Her date had left her standing here. So she grabbed his hands and guided him into a dance. “I thought _you_ were supposed to be in East City,” she teased.

“Oh, I am,” he said cheerily. “I got demoted to package duty temporarily.”

“Package duty?”

“Apparently the library burned down or something? I don’t know. They don’t tell me nothin’.”

She smiled – then planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you. That was very brave.”

“Not as brave as the Major.” Davidson’s eyes practically sparkled. “I wish I was cool as he is.”

_Speaking of the military and queers,_ she thought, but kept it to herself. Davidson could come to _that_ little realization whenever he was ready for it.

\---

Holding a pencil was a challenge Alex wasn’t quite up to yet, but a moment later, he decided that transmuting his hand to graphite was close enough.

The others were asleep, or at least close enough to it. Dante had put all four of them in a room together – in large part, Alex thought, to make sure Lyra didn’t get up to any more hijinks. The bed was far too big for him, and he wasn’t going to use it for a while yet, but it was kind of sweet that he got his own. It was one of those big four-poster things, with curtains on either side.

He readjusted the oil lamp, then stared at the sketch in front of him. He’d been trained – well, first off, how to draw with _actual fingers –_ but secondly, for accuracy and speed, not for artistic skill. The doodle he was working on was no great work of art, but it did the job.

“Mmph…” Something moved in the darkness, and Alex started, but Lyra came into the radius of the oil lamp. She was sleeping in her travel clothes – or _not_ sleeping, as it appeared, and her rumpled shirt and miniskirt didn’t seem the most comfortable. She rubbed at her eyes. “What’re you doing?”

“Uh…”

“C’mon, c’mon, show. I can’t sleep and I’m bored.”

He supposed there wasn’t any harm to it. “Uh… Dante says she’s going to give me a body. Not a _perfect_ one, but one that’s not…”

“The size of a rat?” She snickered. “Sorry.” She sat on the bed, either the low light or the late hour softening the anger in her features.

“You know what? Fair. Although a rat could at least _bite_ things.”

“Don’t talk about biting things,” she whined. “That stupid panda keeps chewing on my feet. But that’s cool. Like, one you can walk around in and stuff?”

“Yeah.” He was too embarrassed to say it out loud – but she seemed to figure it out, moving back towards the pillows and looking at the sketch.

“So this is what you want for your body? I thought you’d just want like, the old one.”

Alex shook his head. “No way. If you could look like anything or anybody in the world, what would you look like?”

Lyra mused on that. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “Less like my fucking _dad,_ probably. Ugly motherfucker.”

“For the record, I think you’re very pretty.”

“Oh, you don’t have a body yet and you’re _already_ putting the moves on me?” Lyra teased, and started giggling as he waved his hands in the air. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Fourte- oh, god. Uh. Yeah, fourteen. I’m not fifteen until October.”

“Great,” she sighed dramatically, throwing a hand to her forehead, “I’m surrounded by children. I’m sixteen.”

“I’ll have you know I’m _very_ mature for my age.”

“Really?” she said excitedly. “Is that why you have a little note at your crotch saying ‘seven-“

“ _Oh my god shut up!_ ”

She wheezed with laughter for a few moments, then managed to regain her composure. “Oh, I shouldn’t bully. I’d definitely inflate my tits a few cup sizes given the chance. I like the specification of attached lobes, by the way. Who even _thinks_ about that?”

“Somebody who’s seen them get pulled off in fights,” Alex deadpanned.

“Oh _god._ That’s – now I want to just sew mine into place. Great, thanks for that, good thing I wasn’t sleeping anyway.”

Alex chuckled despite himself. “Sorry. You should get some sleep, though.”

“I will, I will. I’m just endlessly curious and poke my nose into places it doesn’t belong.” She had gotten awfully comfortable on the pillows, Alex noted. “I hope the body works out,” she added.

He just turned back to the drawing, poking at certain places, adding notes. By the time he looked back to Lyra, she was asleep, gently snoring on _his_ bed. But that was alright. He didn’t mind the company.

_If you could look any way you wanted…_

He probably could have told Lyra that he’d been a girl growing up. She might have guessed. But, really… he thought it didn’t matter anymore. He hoped so.

In little letters at the bottom, where nobody would notice or bother about it, he printed, _Alex._ Not Lexie. Alex. And for the first time, it felt like something more than a temporary lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putting some of my rambling about history and historical accuracy here so as not to distract from the story. In writing this, I’ve been researching more and more about queer history, especially trans people in history! There are a number of trans people in history, including doctor James Barry (1895-1865) and Dante ‘Tex’ Gill (1930-2003) – who are two examples of what Georgie was talking about in regards to trans men just “pretending” – as in, dressing as men, finding ways to make it work, and just Going For It. (Pretending is a bit of a fraught word, but I’m hoping people are following what it means in this context.)
> 
> In regards to Will just showing up to a gala dressed as a woman, though – and passability without any special tricks – look up Ernest Boulton and Frederick Park, otherwise known as Fanny and Stella! The stories, including most of the articles written about them, include quite a bit of transmisogny and references to transphobic assault, but the actual famous incident – Stella simply showing up at an opera as a woman – is pretty funny. She considered it a laugh, too, which is why I feel comfortable saying that! Will is doing something very similar, with a more complicated array of factors in the mix. Stella was a sex worker, already an outcast, whereas Will has status to lose; however, that status (and the status of those around him) is also protecting him. Amestris is also politically different than post-war Britain in some very peculiar ways; the military is the upper-classes, because the military is the government, as opposed to a parliamentary structure and House of Lords. I won’t bore you with how much I’ve thought about mobility and social protection in that kind of structure (it’s too much) but it’s definitely influenced how I’ve approached these things.
> 
> (…Look, I’m a history major. Being a geek is in the job description.)


	10. Midnight City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Anti-sex-worker prejudice mostly poked at/played with/referenced, gang violence and guns, abusive work places referenced, sibling incest (like, more than usual), and some internalized anti-Asian sentiment (jokingly, but might still sting.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief interruption in the gala fun to bring you my first fully-flashback chapter! This seemed like a good place for it, since – as most of you have guessed – things are going to start going badly again soon. Plus, I’ve been making so many backstory references that I might as well!
> 
> A quick note on the last name Kwan – I think in comments and stuff I’ve previously given this as Guan, but I changed it to Kwan here. It’s the same name; it’s just the Cantonese version!
> 
> ‘Remember not his years but his scars’/’Remember his scars, not his years’ showed up ALL the way back in chapter ELEVEN. And even earlier than that there was a reference to the fact that Diana’s actually met Hohenheim before. I keep track of these things! (SOMEHOW. Don’t ask me HOW.)
> 
> Phrases:
> 
> Cheung fan: Cantonese steamed rice rolls. They’re sort of, uh, lasagna-ish? (Me trying to explain non-Western foods to white people fdsajklf.) Basically, you have a flat, wide rice noodle wrapped around the filling and steamed! They are delicious. And fairly complex to make, so they work great as a bribe.
> 
> Tin-dang: Chinese paper lanterns! I think this phrase is normally meant for the floating ones, but here, it’s being used in a more general sense; stuff happens in diaspora communities, and that’s my excuse.
> 
> Puk gaai: Drop dead. :D
> 
> Song is Midnight City by M83, which I BEG you to go listen to – it’s one of my Diana/Jareth songs and has been for years.

~10~

_Waiting in a car  
Waiting for a ride in the dark  
At night the city grows  
Look at the horizon glow_

**_-Midnight City_ **

Laura Xiaofan Kwan was missing her mother again, which in her opinion, was probably the _stupidest_ thing she could be doing. She hadn’t had any great affection towards the woman – no, that wasn’t really very fair. She missed her mom. Plain and simple. And she’d _loved_ Ma. Sure. It was just that what she was missing right now wasn’t Leung’s unreliability or crying fits, or largely-unremarked-upon alcoholism. No, she just wished she was better at Xingese, because then she’d know whether or not she was staring at another missing-persons ad or a job offer.

She put the paper down with a sigh. She was just giving herself a headache. And besides, working for her Ayi wasn’t _bad._ You lay back, thought of Amestris, and sometimes even got an orgasm out of it. She was allowed to pull knives on clients she didn’t like, and Ayi _never_ sent the worst ones her way.

But…

Laura glanced over at her bedside table – then rubbed her eyes. Nope. Nope, she was not going there again. Ayi had caught her doing alchemy _once,_ and the fear in her eyes was enough to put it down forever. Except it wasn’t. It wasn’t, and she knew it, and the worst part was, she thought her Ayi knew it, too.

She was eighteen. (Or so; Leung had always been _bizarrely_ foggy on the specifics.) She was pretty, and she was good in bed. The worst thing she could possibly do to herself was be _smart_ on top of it.

So Laura gave her bedside table a quiet, sulky kick and went downstairs. She had to occupy her mind somehow, and besides, Ayi was probably –

As her slippered foot hit the steps, a gunshot went off outside. She ducked, and slipped, grabbing the banisters to make sure she didn’t fall all the way down. Another gunshot. Another.

She could feel her breath, hanging in her lungs, begging to come out. Then everything was silent, except for the sound of distant sirens.

Lovely.

“Everybody alright?” came Ayi’s voice from downstairs. “Laura?”

“Here.”

“Stella? Lizzie? Johnny?”

As Ayi kept doing roll-call, Laura crept back up to the stairs and to the window. She couldn’t see the scene from here – that, or whoever it was had gotten away.

“Stay away from the window, love.”

She started, then glanced over her shoulder, exhaling. “You surprised me, Ayi.”

Christina Kwan was a big woman – big enough that her skill to move silently _always_ took Laura by surprise. She also didn’t look anything like her frail, haggard sister; she was fat, and bolstered the illusion of opulence with fake furs and Cretan cigars. It was all an act, of course; her knees ached, and the Halky took almost all the money she made. But it worked. “Why is it that you’re always running _towards_ trouble?”

“I just wanted to know what happened.”

“I’ll tell you what happened,” she growled. “The Halky are taking somebody out again. Probably some poor soul who didn’t pay their tax.”

“Don’t they usually go quieter than guns?”

“Eh, that’s been changing. More and more guns in this damn city all the time. That’s what happens when you let gun-runners get a foothold.”

Laura just nodded. Ayi’s opinions on the Halky could be as stern as she wanted; just like everybody else, she had to pay the toll. “…I was reading one of the papers. The Xingese one. They said somebody was starting trouble at the factory.”

“I’m surprised you understood that much.”

“I filled in a lot of the gaps,” she admitted. Her Xingese was pretty rudimentary. “ _Gong hui_ is – isn’t that a, a committee? A group?”

“A union. As in, bad news. That factory’s going to be ablaze by nightfall.”

“They _wouldn’t._ ”

Chrissy laughed bitterly – then seeing the look in Laura’s eyes, rubbed a thumb over her cheek. “Oh, honey. Don’t let my cynicism go to your head. The Halky are – they’re bad news. But you’re right. They might just teach the organizers a lesson and leave it at that.”

Laura couldn’t quite understand what was so bad about a union, although, to be fair, the concept kind of escaped her. Ayi said she was naïve, and that was probably true; she couldn’t really get her head around being treated badly enough in a job that you had to team up to demand change, but not being able to leave.

Then again, she might be naïve, but she wasn’t _stupid._ She’d listened in on plenty of Ayi’s conversations with clients that she wasn’t supposed to hear. Factory workers got paid in coupons instead of money, sometimes – coupons for the business. And if you quit on a factory, particularly on bad terms, good luck getting hired anywhere else run by the Halky. Your life was your job, and your job was your life. She didn’t _love_ being a whore, but it beat anything else in West City.

Once again, she found her thoughts drifting to the alchemy book in her nightstand. _Understand the composition of something, break it down, put it back together…_ If only that worked on whole cities.

“Go get some rest, bab. It’s getting late. I can send up a tray later.”

“Ayi, I’m _fine._ ”

“You say that, but every time there’s one of these incidents, you’re cagey and squirrelly for days. Now, _hush._ I will make you cheung fan.”

Laura, who’d been about to protest, closed her mouth and narrowed her eyes. “…Really?”

“Really, really.”

That meant her aunt needed her out of the way, _fast._ Well, she could take a hint. Especially if she was getting bribed with her favourite food.

The moment she got into her room, though, her curiosity won out. She knew _exactly_ where Ayi’s parlour was – just below the room next to hers. Which meant if she did this _right…_ She yanked open the nightstand drawer. The book lay right where she’d placed it, light-green cover almost blending in with the velvet bottom, the words on the cover and spine faded and almost-unreadable. A BEGINNER’S GUIDE TO ALCHEMY – PHILLIP VAN HOHENHEIM. On the inside, not that she had to look to call it to memory, was the inscription scrawled in a practiced but messy hand. _I hope this serves you well on your journey – I would take that journey with you, but my path leads elsewhere. Good luck! And don’t cause your aunt too much of a headache._ Underneath it, in old-style Xingese, the proverb that Ayi had translated for her. ‘Remember not the years, but the scars’. And of course, his name. _Phillip._ He hadn’t even put his last name, the strange, strange man. She supposed he had to be terribly important, rushing around like he had, or maybe he just didn’t like the Halky any more than Ayi did.

She flipped through the pages. Some she had memorized – others she was still scrutinizing, trying to learn. And here it was – the one for moving wood around. Making holes _in_ things. It was more complicated than she’d thought at first; alchemy was primarily for turning one thing into another. When you were making things move around, or making holes in things, you were moving the material aside, or back and forth; forcing atoms to trade places with each other in a domino effect until you got what you wanted. You couldn’t _destroy_ matter, but you could compress and decompress it, shove it aside – all sorts of things.

The trouble was, well, she wasn’t very _good_ at it yet. The circle took her two or three tries, and then she took a deep breath, pressing her fingers against the chalk outline and trying to focus on everything except her slightly-chipped nail polish. “Understand, decompose, recompose…understand, decompose, recompose…”

The wood in the walls began to shift, distorting like a finger was pressing into it, and she pushed the wood aside with such intense focus that she could feel her head aching. The metal inside was more the point, and that was what the inner circle was for – she curved it into a tube, through the floor of the other room, until she could hear the tinny, slight echo of voices.

Phew. Okay. She hadn’t done alchemy in a while.

She went over to the window again. It was getting dark out, sliding from evening to night – but it never got _that_ dark, not here in the Ming Quarter of West City where the flickering, inconsistent streetlights were supplemented by the warm glow of tin-dang hung upon the porches and apartment balconies. There were… a few too many cars on the road for her liking, but it wasn’t like West City ever slept. Then, she blew out the light, lay down, and waited in the dark for the conversation to come through the tube.

Instead, something big, black and shadowy burst through the window.

Laura pistoned upwards, muffling her shriek in her pillow, and immediately reaching for the knife she hid under the mattress. When the shape didn’t come to attack her and instead went back towards the window, relocking it – how _had_ that stupid lock come undone? – she reached her other hand back towards the light. She had matches next to it, somewhere…

“You had _one job,_ ” the figure was hissing to himself. The second she ignited the match, though – he swivelled around, pressing his back to the wall next to the window. “Oh god somebody’s in here,” he exhaled.

“Yes! This is my _bedroom!_ ” The match started to singe her fingers – she blew it out, ignited another one and lit the lampwick.

“I coulda swore Maes said two across, four up,” he mumbled. “Uh.” He peered out of the window, then hid back away from it. “Don’t suppose an ‘eartfelt apology would do.”

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re trying to _stay,_ aren’t you? If you thought I’d be an easy target you have another thing coming, buster-“

But he wasn’t listening. He was glancing around the room, taking in the relatively-plush furnishings, the size of the bed, the rack of her favourite clothes –

-and _she_ was sizing _him_ up. As much as she was putting up a show, if a man had to show up in her bedroom in the middle of the night, she could do worse. Much worse. He was tall, easily six feet, but with a gangly look that meant he was closer to her age than she’d initially suspected. And the _muscles._ No wonder he’d been able to break the lock – except that the lock apparently wasn’t broken which was a mystery she was going to _solve, as soon as possible._

“I’m in the brothel, huh?” he said in such an adorably embarrassed tone, hiding his face in his hands, that Laura decided to overlook the assumed insult.

“Not the intended result?”

“No. So you’re –“

“I work here, yes. And live here. Which does not mean, by the way, that you can get away with anything unsavory-“

“No, no, no,” he waved his hands earnestly, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Then he averted his eyes, very delicately, from her chest. How _sweet._

“Alright,” she sighed, relaxing her grip on the knife – but not putting it down. “Who are you running from?”

“Who says I’m running away from anything?”

She just narrowed her eyes at him, and jabbed the knife at him.

“Fine, fine,” he sighed. “I. Uh. Pissed off the Halky.”

A light went off in her head. “Oh! Oh, you’re the one they’ve been after!” That certainly gained him some respect points.

He didn’t seem to notice, though. “Yeah, uh, turns out they don’t like backtalk.”

“You-“

A knock sounded at the door. He froze up, blood draining from his face. Typical man, really – so Laura grabbed him by the arm and practically _shoved_ him under her bed, draping the sheets back down so he couldn’t be seen.

“Yes, Ayi?”

“I heard a crash. Is everything alright?”

“That must have been outside, I’m –“ She faked a yawn, which turned half-real partway through. “Half-asleep.”

“If you’re sure, bab. Sleep well!”

Laura gave it a few minutes, then leaned over, pulling her sheets up so she could see the stranger under her bed. “Relax, you big baby. That’s just my auntie.”

“Alright, alright.” He clambered out, accidentally giving Laura a _wonderful_ view of his ass. Why did she never get clients this cute? The answer, she mused grumpily, was because he probably had absolutely no trouble getting laid. “I’m in so much trouble,” he groaned.

“I should say so! How did you get _in?_ ”

“What?”

“That window was locked!” She scowled at him. “Are you an alchemist?”

He blinked in confusion at her, then glanced at the window – and started laughing. “No, but _you_ are.”

“What? How could – of course I’m not!”

He pointed at the window, then to the hole she’d carved into the wall. “You didn’t check where some of your material was going – or coming from. Can’t do that in a room like this one without checking the details afterwards.”

She stared at him. “You’re _guessing._ ”

“I’m not, because the window just popped open again.”

It had. She got to her feet, and tried very hard _not_ to stomp over to the window. The wood around the lock was distorted, like it’d been shaved down or worn down. Except it _hadn’t_ been like that half an hour ago.

“Puk gaai,” she snarled.

He just snickered, still catching his breath. “Same t’ you.”

“Dammit. You speak Xingese?”

“Oh, absolutely not. I just know how people work.” He reached up to his face – and a look of panic crossed his face. “Shit! Shit, shit, shit, I dropped my _glasses._ ”

“Your glasses?”

“Sunglasses.”

“It’s the middle of the _night._ What could you possibly need sungla-“ She caught a proper look at his eyes. Purple. Royal purple, too, so not a random birth defect. “Oh, I _see._ You’re Xingese.”

“No,” he growled, “I am not.”

“White people don’t have purple eyes.”

“This one does. My _mum_ was Xingese. _I_ am convenient dumb muscle who can barely speak one language and chokes at the smell of fish.” He gave up on finding them, and banged his head lightly on the wall.

She crossed her arms. “That’s…not how that works.”

“No, but I’ve had a crap day.”

“Aw, did somebody break into your bedroom in the middle of the night?”

He proceeded to flip her off. She couldn’t really blame him. The Halky were… vicious. Notoriously so. Except… Except, knowing he usually wore sunglasses was clicking something together in her head.

“I know you, don’t I?”

“Don’t think so. I don’t come here –“ Then he flushed a little. “Oh. Er, there was that one time-“

“You _work_ for the Halky! You’re one of their thugs!”

“Only part-time,” he whined. “They said they’d fund my business idea.”

“What business idea was that, _robbery_?”

“Private investigations. But I guess that’s right fucked now.”

She tried not to – she really did – but she couldn’t resist. “You wanted to be a gumshoe, but you’re not smart enough to _not_ start a union?”

“It wasn’t me,” he grumbled. “I just, you know, refused to shoot the folks who did.”

Oh. That was actually very noble. She felt bad now. So instead, she cleared her throat. “Fine, okay, you can hide here for a bit. But _not_ without an introduction. What’re you called?”

“Grant.”

“I’m Laura. Want a tot of wine?”

He thought about it, then sighed. “I _shouldn’t,_ but fuck it, I’ve done enough shit today. Just tell me you ent one of those trafficked baby hookers.” He said it as a joke, but there was a note of real concern in his voice. He was clumsy – but he really was kind of sweet in his own way, wasn’t he? Although dumb muscle seemed appropriate.

“I _prefer_ sex worker. And I’m eighteen and very much here by choice, thank you very much.”

“Oh, well, I guess that’s alright then.”

“And how old are you?” she asked, handing him a glass of plum wine and taking a drink of her own glass.

“I’m eighteen too. Ish.”

She choked on the wine. He did _not_ look eighteen. She’d pinned the gangliness on leftover awkwardness, not him still being practically a _kid._ Well. He was still cute.

Then, suddenly, the sound of conversation began to come through the pipe. Grant nearly dropped his glass, but Laura eagerly crouched in front of the hole she’d made. She could hear her Ayi, and-

“We know he disappeared somewhere around here, ma’am, and we’re just concerned for the safety of your girls.”

“My girls and boys can take care of themselves. I’m sure they would have raised the alarm if there was an issue.”

“I’d like to remind you,” said a second voice, lower and silky-smooth, “that you pay a tax to us. Normally, Madam Kwan, we let you go about your business. I’d like that to continue beyond this.”

Ayi went very quiet. Crud. She couldn’t say no to that.

“Yeah, alright, I gotta go. Fuck.” He got up, eyeing the window he’d come through with dread. “Not looking forward to this.”

And Laura looked up at him, the boy with the violet eyes and the gruff voice, and wondered –

- _what if I did have a choice?_

She’d told him she was here by choice. But what would a _real_ choice look like? She didn’t mind sex work. But what she _loved_ was alchemy. And there was a difference between working as a whore and knowing, dully, with the ennui of acceptance, that she’d _always_ be one. That the world didn’t give girls like her more chances.

“Hold up, hold up!”

He paused, one leg out of the door. She’d thrown on the simplest dress she had, jerking the black fabric over her white shift. In one hand she had her alchemy book – in the other, the knife, folded but ready. “I’m coming with you.”

A grin spread over his face. “Ya sure?”

“It’s that or try resistin’ the urge to punch those Halky fuckers in the face.”

He reached out his hand – she took it, stepping up onto the windowsill. Below them stretched the awning of the brothel entrance, four floors down.

“I remember now! Maes said four across and two up. I flipped ‘em.”

“Are you bloody _serious-?_ ”

“Let’s go!”

And then they were flying through the air, the awning ready to catch them – she couldn’t even remember the actual landing, because Grant had her up on her feet two seconds later.

“I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into,” he said breathlessly, eyes searching the street to check whether they’d been noticed.

“I have absolutely no clue. That’s why it’s fun.” She grinned at him, and the soft, thankful look he gave her in return was what stayed, sealed in her memory. The rest was there, too. But she’d never forget the first time he’d looked at her like all he wanted to do was kiss her senseless.

And he got to it, eventually - but that came later.


	11. The Last Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: implied character death, alcohol, inappropriate attraction getting poked at, subtle transmisogyny/homophobia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is by the Limousines.
> 
> *readies my inbox for hatemail* Bring it on.

~11~

 _We could be the rolling thunder_  
We could be the last dance   
I might be wrong but I’ve been right for so long

_- **The Last Dance**_

Jareth didn’t like people much. Or, well, he liked people – in small doses. In Ishval, he and Di had worked in a small team, and that had worked just fine. Their National Security team was bigger, but at least still manageable. But parties like this – they were so _much._ Diana thrived in these environments, god knew why. She might have made a big show of how much she hated the artifice, but she liked the game of it; the deft social play, the crossing of words instead of swords. Perhaps it was a way to rub – even if secretly – in people’s face that a working-class brothel girl could keep up with them just fine, given the opportunity. Or maybe she just thought it was fun.

Either way, she was perfectly welcome to do so. He, on the other hand, had liberated a bottle of wine from behind the drinks table, and escaped into the Armstrong gardens to sit on the fountain edge. He was about halfway through the bottle when company showed up – albeit not the one he’d expected.

Will wasn’t any less distractingly beautiful in the outdoor evening shadow. Quite the opposite, which was the problem. He came down the pebbled path, tripping slightly as his heels caught on the loose stones, but managing not to spill the glass of wine he’d nicked for himself. White, instead of the red that Jareth had stolen. “I was wondering where you ran off to.”

“No runnin’ involved. I don’t do big events except under duress.”

“Izumi dragged you here, huh?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I probably would have shown up anyway. But I’m just as happy to skip ‘em all together.” Jareth found his gaze drifting down Will, appreciating the way the dress showed off his collarbones, how the choker matched the vivid purple of his hair – and then he brought himself back to attention, cursing himself roundly.

“I…” Will shifted, seemingly unsure of what to say or do. “Hughes showed me how to dance. It’s fun. I didn’t think I’d enjoy it so much.”

“And nobody’s given you trouble?”

“Not so far.” Will’s courage visibly flagged a bit, and he sat down on the edge of the fountain next to Jareth. “…That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“Which part?”

“That nobody’s said anything.” He exhaled. “I was kind of planning on it, actually. So now I’m…”

“Waiting for the axe to fall?” Jareth had meant it somewhat sardonically, but Will glanced up at him with so much gratitude that it was hard to keep the skepticism up.

“Pretty much.” Will smoothed his dress over his knees. “Are you and the Colonel threatening people when I’m not looking?”

Jareth suppressed – badly – his urge to laugh. Especially since he’d _considered_ it, actually. The kid was catching on. “Nah. People are rarely shitty to your face when you’re that bold about something.”

“You’d be surprised,” Will grumbled in an undertone.

“Okay, amend that to the stuffed shirts you’re dealing with today. Fuckin’ two-faced prats, the lot of them. Not a single one of them will say a word to your face.”

It was only as he caught sight of Will’s face – bravely hidden, for the most part – that Jareth realized that wasn’t what he needed to hear. God. It’d been so long since he’d been Will’s age, and even when he _had_ been-

He sighed, then wrapped an arm loosely around Will’s shoulders. “And plenty of them,” he added, “are wondering why they didn’t know the Fullmetal Alchemist was a girl.”

Will snorted at that. “Nice try. But… thanks.”

“I’m only half-kidding. If you end up with some confused upper-class twit trying to court you, I request permission to cave his face in.”

“What if I want him courting me?” Will teased in return – and Jareth almost swallowed his tongue, jealousy rising out of _nowhere._ He had absolutely no call being jealous. None. Zero.

“Not worth it. You’ve got a cute, dedicated farm boy waiting for you.”

Will’s eyes turned sad for a moment, and he shrugged. “Dunno how much he’s waiting for me. I was a prick. Again.”

“Who isn’t from time to time?”

“Selim,” Will retorted, with a slight flush on his cheeks. “It makes me feel bad sometimes, because he’s so fuckin’ _nice._ ”

“Didn’t he run out on his dad?”

“…When you put it that way, okay, fair. But there’s him, and then there’s…” Will made an irritated gesture at himself.

There was plenty that Jareth could have said. He could have comforted Will and claimed that everything Alex had said was blown out of proportion – but that wasn’t true, or fair. It was impossible to pretend that Will wasn’t kind of an asshole. Even _Will_ knew it. And he could have sat there and listed the actual problems, but that wouldn’t help anybody.

So instead he avoided it completely. He was halfway through a bottle of wine. “You better get back inside before Diana thinks somebody kidnapped you.”

“…Alright.”

And it was the wine. _Only_ the wine. But as Will got up, headed back down the path towards the Armstrong house, he added, “You look good. _Really_ good.”

The smile he got in return – the satisfied smile of somebody who’d been hoping for it, but too shy to ask – could have lit the streetlights for a week all on its own. Then Will skipped back inside, and Jareth contemplated the bottle he’d stolen with a sour feeling in his chest.

He was in trouble.

Fuck this party. He was going home before he drank the rest of the damn thing and decided that maybe kissing Will again wasn’t such a bad idea.

\---

Izumi and Jareth had disappeared at some point in the night, and she didn’t expect her date to come back, but Diana was pleasantly surprised to find near the end of the night that Will was chatting with Davidson by the snack table.

A snack table that, by the looks of it, the two of them had done a great job of demolishing. Oh, whatever. They were there to be eaten.

“Congratulations, Will. You got through a high society event without blowing anything up or challenging anybody to a duel. I’m proud of you.”

“Not too late for the second one,” Will retorted, giving Davidson a smug glance. Davidson just crossed his arms with a grumpy scowl. “We’re arguing over the House of Spirits radio show.”

“You cannot and _will not_ talk me into liking Jessamine more than Cindy.”

“You say that now, but I’m apparently very persuasive.”

Diana kept her comments to herself, drinking the last of her champagne to hide her smile. She hadn’t the faintest clue what House of Spirits was, but she supposed this was what happened when Will got to spend time with somebody a _little_ closer to his age. Davidson was what, twenty? Twenty-one? Something ridiculous like that.

“The party’s over, boys, so you’ll have to pick up that fight later.”

“Fair enough.” Will gave Davidson a cheery wave – and then the moment they were alone in the corner, drooped in exhaustion. “All of this showboating and the Fuhrer fucking _left._ I don’t like people enough for this.”

“You like Davidson. Although, more to the point, he seems like he rather likes _you._ ”

“Should hope so,” Will complained, “considering he’s _pro-Cindy._ ”

Diana just put her glass down and decided to keep her comments to herself. If Will wasn’t clocking that Davidson had it _bad_ for him, far be it from her to break that little illusion.

Maes was bringing the car around – since her date had abandoned her – and Diana found herself standing in amicable silence with Will in front of the Armstrong gates. Her eyes kept flicking over his outfit – even rumpled from dancing, it was a marvelous set of choices. Gracia’s hand was obvious in it, but plenty of it was still _Will._ Plenty of people would have thought otherwise – that Will’s own fashion choices were limited to strange gothic pretensions – but the detail that hadn’t missed her for a moment was that he wasn’t _trying_ to look like a woman. He probably would have pulled that off; in fact, she had no doubt he could have, which made the quiet bravery of refusing to do so that much stronger.

“You can stop staring now,” Will said quietly.

“Ah. I’m sorry-“

“It’s fine. It’s a lot different than my usual shit.”

“It suits you.” She was gratified to see the little flush on his cheeks. “And you are very-“

“If you say brave,” he grumbled, “I will hit you.”

“Noted, noted,” she laughed. They would probably never be _friends,_ no, the power struggle between them too sharp and constant to quite lay to rest, but tonight at least she was something other than his commanding officer. “Let me guess. Somebody already said that to you tonight?”

“ _Ohhh_ yeah. I think they meant well. Just, you know. I’m not brave so much as _stupid._ ”

She could have fought him on that, but instead she just shrugged and pulled a face – and got a gentle punch in the side for her efforts. “Ow! Hey, I’m just agreeing with you.”

“Says the person who came with the _Fuhrer._ ”

“That was a tactical choice. Besides, he’s weirdly charming at times.”

Will just rolled his eyes at that. Then he fidgeted with his hands, exhaling. “Izumi and I are leaving tomorrow. I – uh – I’m not sure when I’ll be back? I have to figure out how to reach Alex, and what to do from there, and…”

“I’ll put you on medical leave. Don’t worry about it.” Then she realized that Will was giving her a strange look. “What?”

“…I still don’t understand why you’re so nice to me. You weren’t before.”

“Don’t mistake this for me getting soft, Will. I just do have a heart from time to time. For special occasions.”

He snorted. “Right.”

The car pulled up, and Diana opened the back door for Will, before sliding into the front seat with Maes. “I take it you enjoyed upending the social order for shits and giggles?” she asked, and got a smirk in response. “Of course you did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Will asked.

“Just be glad I didn’t break out the Viatjač step-dancing, dear.”

They reached the Hughes house, much to Diana’s surprise; but Maes just gave Will a smile and nudged his head towards the door. “I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

“…Alright, fine. But if Elysia yanks _me_ into telling her a bedtime story I’m blaming you.”

Once Will was gone, Diana glanced over at Maes, whose face had gone serious. “Alright, what? I’m just tipsy enough to have no patience.”

“Will talked to you about Sveyati, right?”

“Yeah, the old religion. Why?”

Maes put the car back into gear, slowly trundling through the streets. “…Gracia studied Amestrian history at finishing school. Did you know that?”

“I think it’s come up before. Maes, I’m not following-“

“Sveyati is Drachman. Sort of. But the oldest versions of Sveyati doesn’t name sins. That comes from somewhere else.”

Diana frowned. “Maes, I’m definitely too tipsy for this. What’s bothering you?”

He sighed, grasping the wheel with tense hands. “I’m not sure. I’m trying to pull the pieces together.”

“Okay, so the oldest version of Sveyati doesn’t name sins. What does?”

“Xerxes.”

She blinked at that. “Xerxes, the legendary desert city.”

“It’s a real culture. There’s only fragments left, but there’s apparently pieces of the civilization surviving in places like Ardashir-“

“That’s past _Aerugo._ ”

“And Drachma.”

Diana closed her mouth, processing what Maes was talking about. “Okay, so pieces of Xerxian religion ended up in Drachma. Why’s that relevant?”

“I’m not _sure._ ” They came to a stop at a crossroads, and Maes banged his head against the wheel. “But isn’t Xerxes the birthplace of alchemy?”

“Theoretically, but you’re talking four hundred, five hundred years ago. I don’t see what those homunculi have to do with it.”

“Never mind that one of them is Ishvalan,” he sighed. Diana’s blood slowed and chilled in her veins.

“R- the Fuhrer talked to me about him,” she mumbled.

“And?”

“He confirmed that the Beast is a homunculus. Which shouldn’t be possible, but between that and Will I guess it’s undeniable.”

“He – _really?_ ” Maes couldn’t hide the look of shock on his face. “Damn. Damn, he must _really_ like you.”

“Yeah, yeah. He said he wasn’t sure how you _killed_ one, and truth be told, most of the texts I’ve ever read focus on how you shouldn’t ever make one. Not so much on how to destroy them.”

Maes nodded quietly. “Another one of those alchemic taboos?”

“There’s four total. Raising the dead, creating life, turning lead into gold and tattooing the skin.”

“I find there’s usually a reason for these things. Beyond discomfort.”

She snorted. “Well, the tattoo one is obvious enough. Any tattooed array is liable to go off if you so much as look at it wrong, and good luck for casting any alchemy of your own. The others…” She shook away the last remnants of the wine. “Lead into gold is purely economic. No cheating. And raising the dead is impossible.”

“What about creating life?”

Diana thought about it, leaning back against the leather seat of the car. “…I suppose it must go badly. Practically, it’d be a useful skill to have, but you’re right. There’s always a _reason._ ”

“So we’ve got several beings that shouldn’t exist, one of which is a mass-murderer, named after either a dying Drachman religion or the even-more-dead Xerxian religion.”

“Have you considered,” Diana said with a mix of irritation and amusement, “that you overthink these things?”

“Probably. But the fastest way from Xerxes to Drachma – ah, never mind. You’re probably right.”

Something was poking at her nerves. “…Maes, what got you thinking about this?”

“Lab 5. We’ve been digging through the remains.”

Diana blinked, then sighed, dragging a hand down her face. “And Lab 5 plus the names of a probably-religious-cult?”

“Something. I’m getting there.”

“Let me know when you have something a little more practical.” They were outside of her apartment building now, but something was still _bothering_ her. “Okay. Fine. Fine, what was it?”

He chewed on his lip. “…What would _you_ do with somebody who could take on any face at will?”

That was a sobering thought – and the one that she found herself dwelling on as she let herself into her apartment. Codewords and secrets was fine. But that was just for direct information. _Anybody_ could be the shapeshifter. And that was without the others, which Will hadn’t been as forthcoming on as she’d hoped for. She’d have to figure out some way for him to get her the information-

There was something in her purse.

Sneaky bastard.

Diana pulled the piece of paper free, unfolding it carefully – then shook her head in amusement. To anybody else, the excitedly gushing letter about how much he was going to miss her that Will had apparently stuffed in her purse when she wasn’t looking would seem almost genuine. But she knew a code when she saw one. Not to mention that Will would drop dead before calling her an _inspiration._

“Alright, you. What are you finally getting around to telling me?” She knew the Beast had been at Lab 5. The shapeshifter, too. But beyond that, she knew very little. The code wouldn’t be too hard to break – for her, anyway.

She paused as she sat down with a pen. There were a few blotches of ink near the bottom. Like he’d been hesitating, or upset.

She’d find out about what when she got there.

\---

Maes went home to see his baby girl. But when Gracia asked what was on his mind, he didn’t know how to answer her. So he tossed and turned until it was three in the morning. Then he got up, gave Gracia a quiet kiss, and poked his head into Will’s room to see that he was _also_ wide awake.

“Headed to Dublith today?”

He just got a scowl in return. Apparently Will had been up all night too. Maes didn’t have to guess why – the dress was stuffed in a corner, half-covered with a blanket as if he’d tried to get rid of it. He considered telling Will he was worrying too much – but there wasn’t a lot he could say, was there? Not without lying. So he just gave him a soft smile. “I probably won’t get back before you leave, so, stay safe.”

“I will, I w-“

“I’m serious. If I have to haul your ass out of danger I’m charging you for it.”

“Har har. Very funny.” But Will did look more cheerful.

He was about to leave – then he tapped the side of the door. “If you see Jareth before I do, please do mock him on my behalf. Thinks I didn’t notice him sneaking off with a bottle of wine all to himself, the surly prick.”

Now Will _did_ look greatly improved in mood. “You mean you’re _encouraging_ me to mock him? I can – I can work with this.”

“Good boy.”

The library was dark when he got there. The Second Branch, home to both the investigative archives and the more boring type of military records, wasn’t nearly as bustling or busy as the First Branch had been, although that would probably change once it got the official assignation moved over. But that was fine by Maes. A little privacy wasn’t a bad thing, especially since he had a key of his own.

If he’d looked up and seen the one, faint, flickering light in the window – barely noticeable from street level – maybe things would have worked out differently.


	12. Hands Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for character death, racism/stereotypes, anti-immigrant/diaspora sentiment, alcohol+sex in an unfortunate combination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sure if Ranfan struggling with Amestrian comes off the way I wanted it to – I very much wanted to accentuate that Jareth does not know Xingese and she is not good at Amestrian yet! I’m hoping it doesn’t come off unfortunately; that said, I mess around with language and accents enough in this fic that in context I think it’s probably okay?
> 
> Song is by Dashboard Confessional.

~12~

_My hopes are so high  
That your kiss might kill me  
So won’t you kill me  
So I die happy?_

**_-Hands Down_ **

The good news, thought Jareth, was it was _his_ ceiling he was staring at, this time. The bad news was that somebody else was in his house. The good news was that they were singing, and therefore, it wasn’t Will, so the worst had been averted.

He hated getting drunk.

Well, no, that was a lie. He enjoyed drinking far too much. And actually being _drunk_ was fine. It was the morning after that sucked giant hairy donkey balls. Which, for the record, was roughly what his brain felt like.

He sat up carefully, pulling a face as he put his hand in a spot of the bed that was _notably_ sticky. Lovely. That answered the not-so-much-a-mystery of what a stranger was _doing_ in his house. He remembered it, vaguely, but it was like peering through mud.

“ _-Come Josephine in my flying machine, going up she goes, up she go-OES-_ “

He flopped back onto his pillows. He was not in the _mood._ Apparently his one-night stand hadn’t gotten the briefer on when you were supposed to leave. Although he could smell pancakes. Maybe he could forgive them this one time.

Fine. Okay. Where were his clothes? They were – ugh, scattered everywhere. Okay, well, boxers worked, especially since – thank god – he still had his shirt on. Whoever was here had clearly seen the whole package. He yanked them on and rounded the corner into the kitchen. His one-night stand was standing in front of the oven, loose off-white pants tied around his hips and still singing Come Josephine in my Flying Machine in a voice that was a little wobbly, but honestly, pretty good.

Jareth crossed his arms and leaned against the door-frame. “Not bad.” The young man gave him a grin – and he immediately corrected with a flush of embarrassment. “The – the voice.” He paused. “You look younger in sunlight, I, er –“

“Don’t worry,” he chirped in response. “I’m twenty.”

“Oh, lovely.” Jareth rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’m only _slightly_ a cradle-robber.”

“Is that what you’re worried about?” The young man flipped some of his long black hair away from his shoulders, and Jareth found himself admiring the bare chest underneath.

“Uh – Among other things. Listen, I appreciate you making breakfast, uh…”

The young man snickered. “I _knew_ you’d forget. Ling.”

“Ling. Right. You should probably head home.”

Ling just ignored him, flipping the pancakes one after the other. Jareth wondered if he’d heard him – although he couldn’t imagine otherwise, given the quiet of the kitchen. The only sounds were the sizzling of the pancakes and the quiet gusting of the vent.

Then he remembered.

Oh.

Right.

He’d wandered out of the Armstrong grounds, feeling sorry for himself. Whether he was more miserable about the growing attraction to Will or the old, resurging one for Maes, he really couldn’t say. Just that watching them dance and have fun in an event that he fucking _hated_ had hit… a bad chord. That wasn’t his business, though. As far as Maes was concerned, that crush had been long dead and buried. And until yesterday, Jareth had thought exactly the same.

One way or another, though, he’d stopped and watched the teenager – young man – whatever – trying desperately to climb a telephone pole. “Alright, what are you doing?”

“There’s _shoes_ up there. I need ‘em.”

“Are they your shoes?”

“No,” Ling gave a long-suffering sigh, “but I don’t have any.” He’d monkeyed successfully up the pole, and managed about one pace on the wire before stumbling. And hey, Jareth could feel proud of the fact that even _drunk,_ he’d caught the kid.

Somewhere in there, they’d talked, then flirted, and Jareth had offered…

His bed. How they’d gotten there from shoes he was _not_ sure. Just that now he was remembering what Ling looked like completely naked, biting his lip and whimpering –

Jareth discreetly adjusted his boxers. “I can’t really let you _stay_ here. I am – jesus, I am incredibly late for work. Again.”

“Is that why you have so many sticky notes? So you stop being late for things?” Ling held up one of them – _you have leftovers –_ written in Diana’s scribble, that had previously been on the fridge.

“Among other things. Put that back.”

“It ended up on my coat when you slammed me against the fridge yesterday.”

Jareth covered his face with his hands. Diana was _not_ allowed to hear about this. “I seriously have to go to work, I…”

Ling was making a sad face. A ridiculously exaggerated one, complete with puppy dog eyes.

“That’s not going to work.”

“I’ll be very well-behaved! I’ll only roll around on your very comfortable sheets and mattress a little!”

Jareth dragged his hands away from his face, staring heavenward. Was he really going to kick out the homeless kid who _he_ had dragged home for some retrospectively-probably-bad-idea sex? No. No, he was not. And Diana was going to be _pissed_ if he was any later than this.

“… _One_ day. And I will help you find somewhere else tonight. Don’t touch anything.”

“Anything?”

“Okay, you can feed yourself and shower. But that is _it._ ”

“Yes, sir!”

Again with the blushing, and the mild discomfort. Ling had done it on purpose too, the little shit. “Yeah, yeah. Just…keep to yourself.” He grabbed a plain black tank from the drawer he devoted to “stuff I need for work”, and had his uniform trousers half on when he noticed that his phone was off the hook.

He debated asking Ling about it. But hell, he’d apparently slammed the boy into the fridge last night – which he remembered only bits and pieces of – so a phone being off the hook didn’t seem that weird. Still, he replaced it, hoping that nepotism would save him from too much of a lecture.

* * *

If Diana had even thought about Jareth being late that morning, it had been fleetingly and she’d barely noticed. She was too busy staring down the sheet of paper notifying her of a prisoner being transferred to their custody – ‘their’ as in, National Security and Defense, Central office, division 3.

“I swear to god,” she grumbled to nobody in particular, “if they don’t stop arresting teenagers as spies.” The paper claimed outright that the Xingese national was ‘clearly a spy, sent to suss out Amestrian weakness against Xing’-

If she was sending a spy to Amestris, she thought with frustration, she would have picked anybody _other_ than a stroppy nineteen-year-old who clearly had very little actual infiltration training. Or somebody who had a little more to back up her assertion that she was Really Amestrian, I Swear than badly-pronounced place names and the insistence that her hair was brown, not black. No, they’d just sent her another refugee.

Well, she might as well go talk to the poor thing and figure out if there was any basis for the accusations. Unlikely, given even what the paper said. But expecting any kind of nuance from Immigration and Customs was an exercise in pointless frustration.

She took the elevator down towards the jail cells – and it stopped a floor early, as Jareth hurried in.

“Morning,” he mumbled.

“So glad you could grace us with your presence.” She couldn’t help the quirk of a smile at the edge of her lips, even if she was raising an eyebrow at him. “You still smell of wine.”

“Sorry. I don’t like parties.”

Diana suspected that this time around, the discombobulation had less to do with the party itself, and more to do with Jareth’s running jealousy problem. Or, not jealousy, exactly. If he’d been genuinely jealous, the two of them would never have managed an open relationship. No, he just couldn’t quite make himself accept that he could care for somebody and not own them or have them the way he _wanted._ “Maes looked handsome last night,” she commented, and the stormy expression on Jareth’s face just confirmed it.

“More complicated than that. Not doing this right now. What’re we doing?”

“ _I_ am going downstairs to interrogate – gently – a potential Xingese spy.” The burst of annoyed laughter from Jareth’s mouth showed her exactly what _he_ thought of that. “You would think at some point we’d realize that the largest threat to our borders is _probably_ not the country a whole desert away.”

“Oh, I dunno. Maybe it’s all the factory workers and farmhands they’re scared of.”

“Clearly,” she drawled. “Still, might as well pretend there’s an actual snowball’s chance in hell that she _is_ a spy.”

“I hope she appreciates one day that she got _us_ and not some of the white assholes here.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath for a thank you letter. But it would be nice.”

The elevator opened into the block of jail cells below Central Command. Diana could feel Jareth immediately tense up – even though Kimbley hadn’t been held here for a _long_ time, it held bad memories for both of them. She was down here often enough to ignore it, though, and she checked the document in her hands before striding purposefully down towards Block D.

The cells were well lit enough that she got a good look at the girl in the cell before she even noticed there was company. She looked older than nineteen, but that wasn’t uncommon for people who travelled that far and that long. Mostly what made look her so much older, though, was the suit-jacket and pencil skirt that she’d acquired somehow. Definitely not Xingese clothing, no – this was Professional Amestrian Clothing at either its best or worst, a juniper-green collared shirt peeking out from the seafoam-grey blazer. She even had a pair of black mary-janes that had only gotten a _little_ scuffed when she was arrested, and – Diana squinted. Yes, chestnut-brown instead of the black people expected. She could _almost_ pull off the “I’m Amestrian, of course” scam.

Then, of course, she sat up from the narrow wooden bed, and fixed Diana with a steely glare. Diana tried not to laugh. Far be it from her to make accusations about the Amestrian national character, but the pejorative ‘dragon lady’ for Xingese-immigrant mothers in the Ming quarter hadn’t come from nowhere.

Of course, Juliet noticed her staring, and immediately took on a much more vulnerable face, a second away from battering her eyelashes. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said in a wispy, lost voice. “I think there’s been a terrible mistake, but nobody will _listen_ to me.”

“Oh my. I can see that, yes.” Diana folded the document and slid it into her pocket. “I’m Colonel Solaris. This is Lieutenant Valjean. We’re in charge of you right now, okay?”

“Thank goodness. The people at Customs were so _rough._ ”

“They’re not known for their grace and charm, no,” and Diana caught Jareth coughing to cover up a snort of laughter. She didn’t get enough chances to take potshots at Customs. “What’s your name, dear?”

“Juliet. Juliet Douglas.”

Oh dear. The poor girl hadn’t thought through her name as well as she could have. There was a little buzz on the ‘J’ which sounded an awful lot like somebody more used to the ‘zh’ sound in Xingese. Maybe it _was_ a good thing that Diana was processing her and not somebody who didn’t know how the language worked, but clearly she’d butchered enough place names to ruin the disguise a while back.

“Please, can I go? I think I’ve been mistaken for somebody else.”

“Mm, it’s possible. But we have to cover our asses, so bear with us, alright?” She grabbed the chair that some guard had left vacant, but Jareth contented himself with leaning against the wall, arms crossed as he watched her work. “Where _are_ you from?”

“New Ope- Optain.”

Another slip. Diana’s Xingese wasn’t very good anymore, but she knew from Chris which sounds did – and more importantly, _didn’t –_ carry over. Juliet had picked Optain on a whim, but hadn’t practiced _saying_ it, so it was trying to come out as Op-e-tan. She was _good –_ just not good enough.

Which, for what it was worth, meant she wasn’t a spy. Not nearly well-prepared enough.

“Hmm.” Then Diana perched her chin on her hands. Time to see how out of practice she was. “What brings you here?”

“I was _arrested,_ ” came the irritated response – in Xingese. She hadn’t noticed Diana switching languages.

Jareth snickered quietly in the background and Juliet let out a quiet Xingese curse.

“Just had to be sure,” Diana said in Amestrian. “So, the truth this time.”

The Xingese girl’s face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m not a spy.”

“I knew _that._ Customs thinks everybody who isn’t white is a spy.”

Juliet’s eyes flickered between Diana and Jareth, clearly taking in that they _weren’t._ They both passed well, Diana in particular. When Amestrians were deciding who was and wasn’t one of Them, the passively-racist ones usually looked for what _they_ read as Xingese; monolidded almond eyes, purple irises, black straight hair, pale skin. Diana was pale enough, but her curly hair threw people off, and she didn’t have Jareth’s purple eyes. Jareth hid his eyes with his sunglasses, and most people didn’t get close enough to look anyway. Plus, people always assumed all Xingese people were _short._

“You’re far too tall to be Xingese,” Juliet commented dryly. Well. Speak of the devil. “Whose shoulders are you standing on.”

“Why is _that_ what trips people up?” Jareth complained. Diana was just hiding her smile behind her hand.

“I’m sorry for being too tall for you. But that’s not what we’re here to talk about.”

“I’m done talking.”

Ah, yes, the wispy naif was long gone. Diana sat back, watching her carefully. Her Xingese was different from Diana’s, which was to be expected if she was from Xing proper. The strength of will and stubbornness spoke to two potential opposites – desperation hardened into steel, or the determination of somebody born to expect everything from life. Without any more information, it could go either way.

“Well, I won’t be able to bully you into telling me any more. Get some rest. I’ll be back later.”

“Can’t you just let me go? You said yourself I’m not a spy.”

“No,” Diana admitted, “but you _are_ hiding something.” She got up from the chair, then paused. “Go on ahead, Lieutenant.”

Jareth gave her a look, then shrugged, heading back upstairs. Diana pressed a finger to the bars.

“I’m not letting you go until I understand what you’re after,” she said quietly, “but if you’re running _from_ something, we can work something out.”

Juliet _laughed_ at that – a sharp, bitter sound. “I’m not one of those migrant cowards.”

_Cowards._

Diana bit her tongue to stop herself from telling Juliet to rot. So she left without another word.

* * *

Havoc was out smoking at Jareth’s usual spot, but that worked for him. He could do with some company. “Hey, boss.”

“Stop calling me that,” he sighed. “I’m one rank above you.”

Havoc just grinned around his cigarette. They were in one of the courtyards that dotted this part of Central Command – there was a fountain in the middle, much smaller and simpler than the one at the Armstrong’s, and the bricks had moss and ferns growing through them at the far edges. Sometimes they did announcements here, but ever since radio had gotten usable, the courtyards had become mostly artifices – not green enough to be gardens, but not easy to cover up.

“I’ll keep calling you boss as long as you’re the Colonel’s right hand man, and you’ve gotta deal with it.”

“Har har. Lend me a light?”

Havoc handed him the lighter, then gave him a concerned look. “You don’t look the best today, sir. Rough night?”

“Uh. Sort of.” Jareth fumbled with his cigarette. So much for a poker face.

“Sometimes I hate you,” Havoc grumbled. “It’s bad enough that you steal all the good-looking girls! You steal all the _guys_ too.”

“What’s the matter, Jean? You want some?”

“Absolutely not. I kissed Breda once on a dare, so I can say that from experience.”

Jareth chuckled. “Shame.”

“Should’ve known me being straight wouldn’t stop you for a second,” Havoc grouched good-naturedly. “Seriously, though. Leave some of the rest of us. Who’d you grab last night?”

“A man, if that makes you feel better. Whatever girl rejected you did it all on her own.”

Havoc fixed him with a steely glare- then sighed, shoulders collapsing. “And here I was all ready to blame you and your philandering.”

“Did you try to read her poetry again?”

“I – _No!_ That happened _once!_ ”

Jareth just raised his eyebrow at Havoc, who looked so flustered that he was sorely tempted to give him a break and say something nice. But frankly, the day he was all sweet and nice to Havoc was going to be the day that Havoc accused him of being an impostor.

He flicked his eyes up to the slate roof of one of the buildings circling the courtyard. He thought perhaps –

“Sometimes I feel like I’d have better luck with men.”

“Oh, don’t go there. Trust me. All the fun’s balanced out by the fact that it’s technically illegal.”

“Illegal, my ass.” Havoc had his cigarette determinedly clamped between his teeth. “Half the people I _know_ are queers. As far as I’m concerned that law might as well not exist.”

“Tell that to Command.”

“I’m _tempted._ It’s dumb. But then they’ll think it’s because I’m gay and I don’t need that stress in my life. I still don’t know how to get Catalina to call me back.”

Jareth was about to comment on how – _Catalina? Really? –_ but instead, the smudge he’d been watching out of the corner of his eye moved.

He yanked his gun from the holster and fired a shot in the smudge’s direction. There was a yelp of surprise, and a skid of feet on tiles. The yelp, actually, had been Havoc.

“Jesus _christ,_ Jareth!”

“Sorry, buddy. Smoke some more, you’ll calm down.” Jareth walked into the courtyard, keeping his gun pointed down – but cocked. “Alright, you. Down here where I can see you.”

There was silence, Then a moment later, the nervous squeak of, “Are you going to shoot at me again?”

“It’s called a warning shot, honey. If I wanted to shoot you, I would’ve. Now off the roof.”

“Why are you _like this?_ ” came Havoc’s faint complaint in the background. He ignored him, although he really would have to buy him a drink or something later.

The girl-shaped smudge clambered over the roof and dropped into the courtyard. At least Jareth was guessing it was a girl. Realistically, it could have been anybody under the patterned mask, curved red and white making a deliberately spooky image under her black hood. The giveaway was the small dagger held in her hand.

Jareth scratched his stubbled chin. “That’s not from here. And neither are you.”

The girl responded, as he’d guessed, in Xingese. He’d never been any good at it, unlike Diana, but he could definitely hear the word ‘protect’ in there.

“You’re here with that other girl, aren’t you? The one we have in custody.”

The bodyguard – and Jareth knew one of his kind when he saw one – promptly slammed her hand against her forehead. “ _Dāngrán_.” Then she said something else, too quick for him to catch.

He could make a guess, though. “She’s fine. In some trouble, but don’t worry. We don’t think she’s a spy.”

The bodyguard shook her head frantically, waving her hands. Oops. Maybe she hadn’t heard that part. Then she sighed in frustration. “Bad at Amestrian. Not spy. Just stupid.”

Havoc started snickering, but Jareth had to be a little more professional. Or as professional as he got, especially in a situation that _nothing_ could have prepared him for. “I’m not lookin’ at you and getting refugee vibes, gotta say.”

“Shén me?”

“You’re not escaping something.”

“Oh. Yes. No?” Then she seemed to remember that she was in unknown territory, and brought up the knife.

“Put it _down._ I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“Soldier,” she replied, her expression unreadable under the mask.

“If I was going to shoot you,” he said, a little more slowly this time, “I would have.”

“You _did._ ”

“I missed on purpose.”

She slowly lowered the knife. Jareth reached forward, just as slowly, and tugged at the porcelain mask – not to tear it off her, just an indication of what he wanted to see. She hesitated… then lowered the mask. Underneath it, far from the steely exterior, was an annoyed-looking teenager who looked like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“Juliet’s your responsibility, huh?”

She took a moment, frowning as she parsed the words. Then she sighed, looking so exasperated that Jareth felt it in his bones. “Yes. Not…” She grappled for the word, clearly out of her depth with the language barrier. Juliet clearly knew it much better than she did, although her _understanding_ seemed reasonable; it was the speaking that was giving her trouble. “I am Yao guardian. She is Zhu.”

…Oh, those names were ringing a bell. A very faint, faraway one, and he had a funny feeling Diana would know more than he did. “Yao, Zhu?”

“Groups, um… families.”

Then it clicked, and Jareth couldn’t hide his amusement. “Oh, I _see._ You’re not _actually_ her bodyguard.”

She shook her head. “Friends. To some, enemies.”

“Shouldn’t she have bodyguards of her own? From her family?”

Her eyes rolled upwards, practically pleading to the heavens. “Yes.” Pause. “…Idiots.”

“Oh, so you can _insult_ people in Amestrian just fine, I see how it is.”

“I listen fine! Speaking, harder.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” At another confused look from her, he just waved his hand ‘never mind’. Then he stuck out his hand. “I’m Jareth.”

She backed away from him, clearly a little squirrelly. “Trouble.”

“No, no, I swear. First off, I’m not from Customs. And second of all, Havoc and I-“ he gave Havoc a warning stare at this, “won’t breathe a word.”

Havoc just blinked. “I’m shocked you’re following, honestly. Won’t be me who goes and rats out some baby ninja until she actually hurts somebody.”

“Havoc…chaos?” she asked, blinking her wide eyes in such confusion that Jareth felt bad for being entertained.

“Havoc is his name.”

“Havoc, Jareth. Okay.” She put the mask back on, and Jareth got the impression she was happier that way. “When?”

“When are we letting Juliet go?”

She nodded.

“I’m…not sure yet. But probably a few days still.” Jareth rubbed the handle of his gun, hand still resting on it in the holster. “Of course, if somebody else told me what she was doing here…”

“Dream on.”

“For somebody bad at Amestrian, you know the strangest phrases in it. C’mon, you can tell me.”

She just glared at him through the eyeholes of her mask – and then bounced back up onto the roof in a few smooth movements, the mud on the side of one of the pillars the only sign of how she’d actually done it. She looked down at him, and Jareth filled in for himself the conflict in her face; she obviously _wanted_ to tell somebody, ask someone for help, but between the language and whatever was binding her, it was too much to fight.

“Okay, that was weird. Care to fill me in?”

Jareth just shrugged. “I know as much as you do.”

“Bullshit.”

“I swear! Hand on heart. I don’t know _shit._ ” Well, that wasn’t entirely true. But as far as the random influx of Xingese nationals? He didn’t have a clue.

That reminded him. He needed to get home as soon as he could. He was starting to wonder if Ling was what he seemed. The good news was that he kept absolutely nothing important in his apartment, on _purpose._

He stubbed out his cigarette, and he and Havoc stepped back into the building – and the moment he opened the office door, he knew something was wrong.

The door to Diana’s office was closed, even though he could see the light at the edges. And Breda led him aside, nudging Havoc to leave them alone.

“Okay, what’s going on?”

Breda swallowed, and cast a look at Diana’s office door. “Sit down.”

“Breda, I’m fine.”

“Maes Hughes is dead.” Breda licked his lips, and continued even before the words had processed. “They found him in a phone booth at Lombard and Sierra.”

And suddenly, all Jareth could hear – past the rushing of blood in his ears – was the steady drumbeat of his own heart.


	13. Pepper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: character death, genocide/racially-motivated murder (referenced, historical), anti-Rromanyism (again, referenced history), mental instability and grief, implied alcoholism, Incredibly Bad Coping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW okay so! Couple things to cover in this chapter. A vocab note that’s… semi-clarified in text, if you’re paying attention – the Utaszaj are another group of ciganoj (Romani-but-not) who are more northern-based than the Viatojn. Some of the events in this chapter are sadly reflexive of not just history, but current events; there are still countries in Europe trying to put Romani in camps and chase them out.
> 
> (Pronunciation, for the curious: in everything cigan-related, the ‘j’ is a y. So Viatojn is ‘vee-a-toin’, Utaszaj is ‘oo-tash-ai’, ciganoj is ‘see-ga-noi’) 
> 
> There’s also some INCREDIBLY dodgy consent issues. Have fun unpacking them, I suppose? I do want to be clear that the aggressor, if you can even pin one down, is definitely Lust. (It’s been a while since this was established, but he’s a serial rapist as it is.)
> 
> There’s also some more poking at the xenophobia and immigrant culture of Amestris. While Amestris is more based on Britain in canon, this is one of those places where I’m pulling wholesale from the history of North America. This came up in the previous chapter too, but I’m invested in discussing how the ‘melting pot’ fallacy punishes and rewards different people.
> 
> Song is by the Butthole Surfers. Yeah, they’re actually called that. The song is fucking good, though, and also featured in the recent season of Umbrella Academy.

~13~

_They were all in love with dyin’, they were drinking from a fountain  
that was pouring like an avalanche  
coming down the mountain  
I don’t mind the sun sometimes, the images it shows  
I can taste you on my lips  
And smell you on my clothes_

**_-Pepper_ **

THE NIGHT BEFORE

Pride wasn’t supposed to like libraries as much as he did. It wasn’t one of those skills his master encouraged – _master,_ he mocked to himself – because as much as she liked having a well-read servant, she didn’t like the possibility that he was smarter than her. It made it all the funnier, really, that she was responsible for a good half of his genes – but Pride supposed that hypocrisy was just part of the game.

Still, though. He could pretend he was here to spite Dante all he wanted. He genuinely just liked books. Even the “boring” archives like this one had the strangest bits of information buried away, like an old recipe for hot chocolate that used cocaine, or first-hand accounts of battles that Pride remembered and most living souls didn’t. He ended up reading them on his lap, legs crossed underneath him on the table, occasionally sweeping his hair out of his face.

In retrospect, he wished he’d looked a little more intimidating when the door had opened. The silhouette in the door paused, then chuckled. “Apparently I’m not the only person who likes it here at night.”

Pride froze, scanning the man who’d walked in on him. Right. Unshaven face, rectangular glasses, the ciganoj widow’s peak arching down from his black hair. Maes Hughes, Lieutenant-Colonel. He’d _expected_ the Fullmetal Alchemist, if anybody, to show up at the library… but not at this time of night.

“Lieutenant-Colonel Hughes. Right?”

“Yeah, that’s me. Sorry, I can’t see you very well.”

That worked for him. He reshaped his features – subtly, but quickly – into Julian Heiderich. He hadn’t blown _that_ disguise yet. “Warrant Officer Heiderich.”

“I see. You know you’re not _really_ supposed to be in here?”

Shit. Warrant Officers weren’t commissioned officers. “Doing some research for my commanding officer. I couldn’t sleep, and he gave me the key, so I figured it was fine.”

“…I can’t really judge, given that _I’m_ here.” Hughes chuckled, then flipped the light on. “There we go. That lamp isn’t helping you much.”

Heiderich shrugged. “I see fine in the dark.”

“My daughter says the same thing,” Hughes snorted, “and she’s going to have glasses just like me by the time she’s sixteen. Alright, well, just don’t get into any trouble.” He walked away, whistling something to himself.

Pride’s stomach turned with a sour feeling. Hughes had played it off well. Too well. He waited until the officer was long gone, then slid out into the hallway, changing the tone of his skin and hair to blend in with the beige walls.

Hughes turned into one of the archive rooms, and Pride got close enough to read the tag. H-12-A. Military historical archives.

_Why here?_ he thought with annoyance. Perhaps the Lieutenant-Colonel really was just here for some light reading.

Yeah. At four in the morning. Not a chance.

Pride wished, fervently, that Hughes had chosen another night. Except that was no good either. He was well aware that after the butchered attempt of taking care of Will permanently, Solaris’s dogs were on his trail. The question was – what was _here?_

He shifted again, skin ink-black and patterned with streaks of shadowy-grey, as he slid into the dark room. For all that Hughes had turned _his_ light on, he was looking through the documents with a flashlight. Over his shoulder, Pride could faintly see a map of Amestris – an old one, a good hundred and fifty years out of date, and next to it –

Oh, Christ. A picture of Roy Mustang.

_Idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot, I am going to STRANGLE HIM._ He couldn’t see the date, but he _remembered_ that picture. In Mustang’s defense, he probably didn’t even remember it – he hadn’t even been the Mustang Pride knew yet. Memory was a tricky thing when alchemy got into the mix. Still, it was clearly him, much more clearly than Pride had reckoned on – standing in a crowd of other soldiers in the aftermath of the Fiske conflict.

_He could have grown a mustache or something. But no, no, he wanted to stay looking young. Dumbass!_

Hughes had his gun on his hip. That worked for Pride. He leaned forward, arm stretching and glinting slightly with dark-red sparks –

He’d just managed to grab hold of the gun when Hughes swivelled on the heel of his foot, fist hitting Pride square in the chest. He stumbled backwards, hand gripping the stolen firearm, back hitting the steel shelves in the small room.

“Alright, show yourself.”

That _hurt._ And – he glanced down, then at Hughes’s fist, with the small knife between two fingers. It’d hurt because it was less of a punch than a _stab._

The red fizzle of sparks as he healed was giving the game away anyway, so he dropped the disguise, instinctively returning to the one he preferred. A second later, he realized what he’d done – reinforced by the strange look in Hughes’s eyes.

“Not a lot of people around with eyes like that.”

Pride managed to – outwardly – keep his cool. “I decide how I look.”

“Clearly. I take it you’re the shapeshifter we’ve been dancing around.”

He scoffed, then raised the gun to point at Hughes’s head. “No, I’m some _other_ shapeshifter. What do you think?”

“I think something is very wrong here.” Hughes kept his voice casual and light, but the undercurrent of stress showed through in how he cut off the ends of his words. “The official narrative for the Fiske conflict claims that it was a group of Amestrian gang members who started the violence against the Utaszač ciganoj.”

“And?”

“This is a picture of the Fuhrer, dressed in gang clothing, a hundred and fifty years ago, standing on a blood-soaked ciganač campground.” That wasn’t stress in Hughes’s voice. It was _fury._

Pride should have shot him. That would have been the reasonable thing to do. But he hesitated – and he wasn’t sure why, except that he hadn’t thought about Fiske in a _long_ time.

Everything went black for a second, punctuated by pain; and when he rose from the dead, a few moments later, he yanked the knife out of his throat with a furious grunt. Hughes was gone. But he couldn’t have gone far. But before he left, he grabbed the photograph and stuffed it into his pocket.

Hughes was standing in the phone booth at the corner of the street. “Come on, Jareth, pick up, pick up – Jareth!” Then his look of triumph turned into fear. “Who the hell are you?”

Pride lifted the gun again. Then, he remembered one of his sessions with Will. Will had brought in one of Hughes’s photographs of his wife and daughter, and had spent most of the hour talking about Elysia – and only near the end had he admitted that he was afraid to even _touch_ her, because the last time he’d been that close to a kid, it hadn’t gone well. Nina Tucker was superimposed over Elysia in Will’s mind, the unavoidable similarity complicating every moment of softness. The guilt thing was pretty pre-eminent, honestly; Will thought he was responsible for every bad thing in the world.

Pride wouldn’t admit it to himself, but he hoped Will never found out how Pride had known what Gracia looked like. He was allowed his moments of sympathy. But one way or another, he had the pattern. So when Hughes turned from the phone to see him, he saw only his wife.

“…Don’t do this,” came the quiet request.

_Don’t do this._ Pride had heard that before. Plenty of times.

“You won’t hurt your dear Gracia. I know that much.” Pride cocked the gun. How long had it been since he’d actually _shot_ somebody? There were so many easier ways to get rid of complicating factors.

Hughes had another knife in his hand, but the weakness in his grip made it clear he wasn’t going to use it. “…How are you related to Will?”

Pride’s hand trembled.

“If you’re going to kill me anyway,” Hughes stated, his voice shaking, “you might as well tell me.”

“He and I are nothing alike.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

_I’m nothing like him. Nothing._ And somewhere in the back of his head, even as he fired, he could still hear Will talking about Nina Tucker.

\---

It was far too bright a day for a funeral. June wasn’t the kind of month people were supposed to die in; not when the world around her was so _alive._

Diana bit her tongue not to make a sound. Her hair was tied up, and she was in full official gear. The hat meant she could hide her face if she needed to. But it felt more likely that somebody was going to try give her _condolences,_ and she’d end up knocking them out.

_It’s okay to be sad,_ she tried to tell herself. But she wasn’t sad. She was _furious._

She stuck her hands in her pockets. Plain gloves today. It felt wrong to have her weapons at a funeral.

Maes’s funeral.

That was stupid. Maes wasn’t dead. You didn’t survive the Halky and the military academy and the post-Ishval chaos and die to a gunshot from a – a mugging or an assassination or whatever it had been. No, this was just – a dream. It was fuzzy at the edges like one, with one thing leading into the next with no association. Now somebody was talking about Maes like he was some upstanding example of Amestrian masculinity instead of a scrappy cigano from the West, just like her. Just like Jareth.

Jareth wasn’t here.

The one time she needed him. Obviously. Worthless, worthless, worthless-

_Stop it,_ she chided herself. It wasn’t his fault. She was just… angry. So angry that she couldn’t feel her fingers, or her face. Sometimes it felt like she’d spent her whole life being angry.

And then, as they started lowering the coffin into the ground, came the child’s voice. “Why are they burying him, Mama? You _can’t._ He’s got work to do.”

Diana pulled her hat further down, and blinked away the tears trying to form. Elysia wasn’t wrong. Maes wasn’t dead. He was practically invincible. They’d joked about it before. He’d avoided the Ishval draft because of his glasses, and taken down serial killers without so much as a scratch. _Everybody expected me to die first._

Why wasn’t Jareth _here?_ She was alone. Not alone. Armstrong was behind her, and she could hear the great galoot crying. Idiots, all of them. She hated them. She hated _everybody_ here, because they’d given up, they thought just because there was a body – his body, his face – in the ground that Maes was dead, when everything she knew about him said otherwise –

She probably wouldn’t have heard it except by chance. But as she turned away from the grave, unable to watch the dirt falling, she caught it, in the corner of her hearing. “She isn’t even _crying._ How much do you want to bet she did it?”

Some skinny Corporal she didn’t even know. Closer than she’d thought, and –

-and suddenly, she was on top of him, blood spurting from his broken nose, and her fist hurt, and _had she hit him?_ She must have. She only vaguely remembered doing it. And there was a strong pair of hands pulling her away, Armstrong doing his job a little too late.

“What the _fuck?_ ”

“Another word, Edwards,” Armstrong snapped, “and I’ll put you in the ground myself.”

It was the most threatening she’d ever heard Sander get, actually, which would have been funny if she couldn’t feel her heart beating so fast it was going to burst out of her chest.

“Diana.” Gracia’s face appeared in front of her, hands pressed to her face – _I didn’t say you could touch me –_ “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re his wife,” she replied thickly.

“And you’re his best friend. I’m – I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t.” She pulled away from Gracia’s grip. This wasn’t the time, it was _never_ the time, but she knew Gracia didn’t like her, and she didn’t like Gracia, she didn’t like that Gracia had given Maes everything he ever wanted, she didn’t like that Maes had found comfort in a picket fence – “Don’t you _dare_ pity me.”

Then she stalked away before her mouth could form all the cruel things she wanted to say. That maybe homemaking had dulled Maes’s senses. That maybe if he hadn’t been so distracted by family life and playing house with some finishing school brat he would have remembered where he was _from._

_It’s not her fault any more than it’s Jareth’s._

She found herself in front of one of the bars. That worked. Especially since she’d taken a wrong (or a right) turn and ended up in the seedy part of Central, the part where they wouldn’t complain if she put a fist through the wall as long as she fixed it.

_Maes is dead. You saw the body. You saw him._

_I refuse. I refuse. I refuse-_

_You’re not helping yourself._

The moment she let herself believe it, she’d start screaming and wouldn’t be able to stop. So she opened the door, ready to drown out the voices in her head with whatever it took.

\---

He hadn’t used the name Ling in so long that he’d forgotten how much he liked it. So when Jareth came through the door, looking like he’d been hit by a car, and said it in that growly, smoke-torn voice, a shiver went up Ling’s spine.

“What’s wrong?” he asked cheerfully from his spot on the couch.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jareth mumbled. He sat down next to Ling, hands shaking. “…You should leave,” he sighed, but there was no power in it. “I’m not –“ He shook his head.

Ling knew exactly what had happened. He’d intercepted that phone call last night, after all. Still, he felt a _little_ bad. Perhaps it was that slight sliver of humanity he still felt sometimes, making his skin prickle. Or perhaps he’d just hoped Jareth would fuck him again.

“I could help?” he offered, and turned the charm up as high as it could go. It was a strange power, but a useful one, especially when he wanted something. Then he extended his legs over Jareth’s lap, bare feet rubbing over his thigh. He heard the little catch of breath in the other man’s throat. Good. That meant it was working. “Let me stay another night and I can distract you from whatever’s on your mind.”

Jareth glared at him, looking so angry that Ling couldn’t help his defenses going up – but then Jareth yanked him onto his lap, pulling him into a bruising, desperate kiss. It was the kind of kiss that Ling enjoyed. He wasn’t called Lust for no reason, but there was something about the cracking at the edge of somebody’s sanity that just tasted so _good._

“Get on your knees and open your mouth.” Jareth whispered, voice hot and demanding.

Perfect.

If the Lieutenant noticed or realized that there was something _wrong_ with how earnestly Lust was holding his attention, or wondered who Maes had been calling from that phone booth, it didn’t come up. And Lust was willing to bet he hadn’t thought about it at all.

\---

A day and a half later, after watching Jareth skive off his responsibilities on his own and leave the house only to return with a six pack of cheap, horrible beer, Lust watched him fall asleep with a surprising amount of tenderness. The man was falling apart. That much was obvious. And Lust had every intention of seeing just how far he could push it –

-but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself along the way. Over three hundred years ago, he’d stumbled out of the desert, a mirror to his unfortunate teacher, and found himself in a country he didn’t understand. He didn’t know the language, or the customs, or the laws. And Amestris these days was – _different,_ absolutely, but still with that undercurrent of separation and xenophobia.

He ran his thumb under Jareth’s closed eyes. Poor man. You couldn’t change who or what you were, when you got down to it. It was more than the sex that he was enjoying; there was something thrilling about letting himself into somebody’s life with disarming grace, and looking at the detritus that made them who they were. Jareth had plenty of detritus around; train tickets from almost a decade ago, a pocket-watch that wasn’t Solaris’s, the emblem marked with a vicious scratch that marked it as discharged and decommissioned; an ancient photograph of a Xingese woman with two children and a stone-faced Amestrian man.

Lust let himself out quietly, once he was sure that Jareth wasn’t waking up any time soon. He knew the streets of Central better than most – he’d been around for most of them being built, after all, and finding victims was easier when you knew where all the darkest corners were.

Eventually, he found himself at the graveyard. There were still the marks of the funeral Jareth had refused to go to; footprints embedded in the dirt and trampled flowers. Most of the flowers were still perched on the headstone, though, a sign of respect.

He sighed, and picked up the discarded shovel, digging up the freshly-turned dirt. If it’d been up to him, he would have done this _significantly_ later, but Pride had made the excellent point that nobody would notice if the earth looked a little more disturbed than the day before. Besides, Dante would get pissed at him.

Finally, he was standing on the coffin. A beautiful thing, really – his family clearly hadn’t spared any expense. He rapped on the front. “Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?”

“Har, har,” came the muffled reply. “You’re hilarious. Get me out.”

Lust lifted the lid of the coffin, tossing it up onto the ground six feet above. Maes Hughes glared at him, the bullet-hole in his head looking very grisly indeed for a hole that had never actually seen a bullet.

“I still don’t know why you went to all this trouble.”

“If you need to know, I’ll tell you, asshole.” Maes sat up, dusting the dirt off of his jacket, and then touched the back of his head gingerly. “I almost regret doing the headshot.”

“It was easier doing that than keeping a straight face while everybody looked at you in an open casket. Although I would have _paid_ to see that.” Lust chuckled. “It was hard enough staying all somber and shit while Jareth was getting drunk.”

“Oh, so he’s _Jareth_ now? Lovely. Just don’t kill him by mistake, please.” Maes stood up, and clambered out of the grave, then spat out some formaldehyde and pulled a face. “Also, formaldehyde fucks with my shifting.”

“A weakness? How thrilling!”

“More like a stomachache.” Maes shimmered with red light – then his black hair turned blonde, stubble disappearing into a youthful chin, and pressed uniform vanishing into smoke.

“Aww, you didn’t wanna make yourself taller?” Lust crooned, hopping out out of the grave – and deftly avoiding Pride’s attempt to push him back in.

“I told you, I don’t like fucking with the original. That’s how I end up with extra eyes because I’m not paying attention.”

“Just because you were average height _centuries_ ago doesn’t mean you need to keep it, shorty.” Then Lust poked Pride in the side, just to watch him flail. Some things never got old. “Also, _before_ you get on my case about it, yes, he’s secured. And fine. Just a little bleedy still.”

“Good.”

“Can I play with him?”

“Absolutely not. You keep breaking your toys. This one’s mine.”

If it was anybody _but_ Pride, Lust would have assumed that he meant it literally. Lust had done it a few times himself – dragged one of his victims underground to see how far he could push them until they broke, and get a few good orgasms out of it. Hell, Greed would probably do it, and Envy – well, who knew what that fucker wanted? But Pride was different. He went about his business like an office worker who really, _really_ wanted it to be Friday already. So whatever he had in mind for Hughes, it was going to be either interesting, or the most dull thing Lust had ever heard of.

Unbidden, the memory he’d been poking at earlier rose up again. “Remember when we first met?”

“You’re getting nostalgic _now?_ Is the scent of grave dust that erotic to you?”

“Everything’s erotic if you try hard enough. I dunno. I was thinking about it.”

Pride snorted, replacing the coffin lid and beginning the task of shoveling all the dirt back. “Yeah, I yanked you out from some backwater’s prison before they were done building the gallows, and you haven’t stopped bothering me since.”

Lust perched his chin on Pride’s shoulder with a grin. “And you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Hm. Find better places to put your dick and we’ll talk.”

“That’s a yes in your language.”

“Whatever you want to believe.”

Even all these years later, he still didn’t understand Pride. But that was okay. There was a certain joy in the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I wouldn’t actually do it. What do you take me for? *shoves every other brutal character death I’ve ever written into a casket*


	14. Six Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: dubious-consent sex, drug use/abuse*, underage (14) sex, slight existential bullshit
> 
> *fictional/fantasy-world drugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, remember how I bumped the rating up to M? Heads up for some, uh, underage content in this chapter. Not explicit, but not that vague, either. (Also holy crap the consent is, AGAIN, dodgy as hell. Not that anything about Alex’s situation right now is particularly good.)
> 
> The science is entirely made up, except for when it’s not. Canon never got into what exactly made up Red Water and I made only some vague allusions to it before, but suffice to say: it’s BAD. REAL BAD.
> 
> I believe that this chapter confirms, although doesn’t name, that we have all seven homunculi in play. Took me long enough! Also, sorry RoyEd fans, they genuinely hate each other here. (Although if you were here for any common or canon ships at all, you were bound to be disappointed in one way or another.)
> 
> Song is by Junichi Suwabe and is from the Bleach Beat Collection! If you don’t know, Junichi Suwabe voiced 2003 Greed, so this is pretty much what Jareth sounds like. (Suwabe is ALSO Viktor from YOI, Aizawa from BNHA, and a bunch of other Iconically Hot characters. It’s not fair that he can sing, too.)

~14~

_Kyoumi wo idaku kanjou ga ore wo koudou e to tsuranuku  
Ishi wo tsuranuku kokoro ga ore ni chikara wo sosogikomu  
Shuunen wo nigiru kimochi ga ore ni sekai wo oshieru  
Sou yatte ikite 'ru no sa - wakatta darou?_

_The feeling of acting out my interests flows through me  
My intention flowing through my heart is what gives me strength  
I'll teach the world what it feels like to seize this tenacity  
It's what I live for, you get it, right?_

**_-Six Feelings_ **

He wasn’t quite dreaming, but he wasn’t awake either; he was in that half-asleep mist that he fell into sometimes when he hadn’t slept for a day or two. Two, now, he thought. Not deliberately, at least this time. He was just full of nervous energy that wouldn’t let him get to sleep.

At least he didn’t have to guess at what it was this time. He was worried about Alex, sure, but he was mostly still drinking up the jitters from the gala. And now he could make himself forget about it and go back to-

-well, whatever his normal was going to be _now._

Better put, Will was awake enough to know that whatever he was seeing wasn’t quite right. There was automail splayed out in front of him, but he could still feel the vibrating rattle of the train below. And the hands that picked up the screws were evenly matched.

_Selim._

How long had this been happening? Will wasn’t sure. He couldn’t remember, honestly, a time when he _hadn’t_ had an uncanny understanding of Selim’s emotions, the inner working of his mind. It was never anything specific. Just knowing what his moods were, if something bad had happened-

-which led Will’s half-awake brain to the upsetting, unavoidable conclusion that whatever it was, it was getting stronger.

“We’re almost there,” came the voice cutting through his daze. “If you’ve caught up on your sleep.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, slowly levering himself up on his elbows. The double-vision of the automail in front of him… was persisting. He’d expected it to fade with the dream.

“Are you alright?” Izumi asked, somewhat brusquely. He didn’t blame her – and after mentally _shoving_ the image away, it seemed to clear. Still. That was a little disconcerting.

“Uh, yeah. I have a weird question for you.”

“Is it about why I haven’t killed you yet?”

“Don’t joke about that,” he grumbled. “Had _way_ too many people trying to kill me lately.”

“That’s what you get for joining the military.”

He glared at Izumi – and caught the flicker of a suppressed smile at the edge of her mouth. Bitch. He loved her, for some reason. “You _really_ hate the military, huh?”

“I just know my history. But you’re right, I’ll ease off. What was your question?”

Crap. No version of it didn’t sound stupid now that he was trying to put it into words. “…You know more about the weird shit than you let on, right?”

“You are going to have to define ‘weird’ a little better than that, Will.”

“Have you ever heard of… I don’t know. Mental communication? Telepathy? Like, that’s not real. Right?”

Izumi blinked in obvious surprise. She’d clearly been expecting something a little more along his usual line of Annoying Alchemy Questions. “If it exists, I’ve never seen it. And there’s no scientific or alchemic backing for it. So I’m going to say no. Tentatively.”

“Tentatively?”

“The lack of evidence towards or against something does not, de facto, mean it doesn’t exist. I’ve seen too many strange things to pretend that the world of alchemy doesn’t lean into the unexplainable at times.”

“Like the Gate?” he offered. Her hand clenched into a fist, buried underneath her arm.

“Like the Gate,” she admitted. “Alchemy straddles between two worlds. One that runs on scientific principles, and one that operates on a different level. I _despise_ the idea of calling it magic, but some do, and I can’t blame them.”

Magic. If he hadn’t watched Pride shift before his eyes, or Sloth popping around like teleportation was the easiest thing in the world, he’d dismiss it completely. As it was…

“If it _is_ real, how would it work?”

She shrugged. “Hard to say. There’s the entirely neurochemical possibility, but brain chemicals are far too complicated for that to be much more than… keyed-up empathy, really.”

Something tensed in the back of Will’s consciousness. He had the funny feeling it wasn’t him. “Right. So that’d affect everybody, not just one person.”

“You mean one person who can read multiple people, as opposed to one person who can only read one other person?”

“Mhm. For the second…” Izumi fixed her eyes on him with a searching look. “Is there any particular reason you’re asking me about this?”

“It came up elsewhere. In a book.”

“A book. Uh-huh.” She clearly didn’t believe him. “Souls…get entangled sometimes.”

“Entangled?”

She chewed on a stray strand of hair, deep in thought. “You’ve run into alchemic amplifiers, before?”

“I have. You didn’t teach us about them, but I’m guessing there’s a good reason.” Red Water and Red Stones weren’t the only amplifiers out there. In natural form, cinnabar, mercury, sulfur, pyrite, arsenic, antimony and wormwood could all amplify alchemy – make it stronger, faster, more durable, but with drawbacks of their own. Red Water had most, if not all of those ingredients in a toxic soup. Will knew there were others, but all of them were dangerous to use for long. “Somebody I ran into… was messing around with them.”

“What happened to him?”

“He died. Miserably.”

“Sounds about right. Some of them…get into soul magic.”

“The Philosopher’s Stone?” he said without thinking.

“That’s a myth,” she snapped. There was a little bit _too_ much of an edge, he realized. Kind of like how she’d warned him away from human transmutation. _Too late for that one, too,_ he sighed internally. “But there are…ways to mess around with the energy from other people.”

With a quiet dropping in his stomach, Will realized that she was talking about the discovery he’d made through Marcoh’s notes. If he’d just _called her –_ But things had already unfolded the way they had, with guiding hands he hadn’t even seen. “Human lives?”

“It’s terrible, brutal work. But it happens in subtler ways, too. Human lives are just masses of electrical impulses, after all. But drain just a _little_ of that electricity, and you can power some streetlights, or give yourself the energy to keep going, without killing anybody.”

“Have you ever done it?”

“God, no. Like with all alchemy, it comes with a price. And this is all theory. You can _technically_ do this, but the arrays, the practice – I doubt there’s anybody alive who can actually do it.”

Will couldn’t help it. He was morbidly curious. “Why not? It seems…useful.”

“Don’t you dare. You’re in enough trouble as it is. Anyway, _theoretically,_ this is one of the ways souls can get entangled. Like radio waves on the same frequency. Whatever happens to one happens to the other.”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Well that sounded _fucking familiar,_ didn’t it.

“What’s, uh, the difference between souls and electrical impulses anyway?” he asked, trying not to sound panicky. Lord knew he was fairly certain he wasn’t the only one listening.

Izumi shrugged. “Religious takes? Memories? We don’t have the technology to understand the complexities of the human brain yet. What’s the difference between the mental recording of your childhood and the signal you send your arm to move? _Either_ of your arms, for that matter.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m serious. The technology involved in automail might be the closest thing we have to understanding a human soul.”

That felt weird to think about it. Will wasn’t sure he liked it. That felt so… _artificial._ Like everything he did and felt could be reduced down to zaps in his head. “Would the soul entanglement be permanent?”

“Will, we’re talking hypotheticals here. Not just hypotheticals – the kind of hypothesis that sits on the same level as moving planets and regrowing limbs. Alchemy can do an awful lot more than just deconstructing and reconstructing matter, but once you move from matter to energy, the entire game changes.”

He nodded thoughtfully, then groaned as the train finally came to a grinding stop. “Now my brain hurts.”

“That’s what you get for asking me science questions. And don’t think I’ve forgotten I’m angry with you.”

“Don’t worry. _I_ hadn’t.”

As he hefted his bag onto his shoulder, he found that overlay of a workbench drifting back. This time, the workbench had been cleared off. No – everything had been _shoved_ off, in a fury Will hadn’t realized he’d been feeling until now. Not directly feeling, no; Selim’s emotions were so quiet compared to his own. He’d never really realized it before, not until Lab 5. Even now, he kept trying to argue his way around it. He was schizophrenic. Seeing things, hearing things, imagining things; that was all part of the deal.

Still, though –

_Entangled souls._

There was just the question of how the fuck it had _happened._ And how to fix it.

\---

It had been three days since Alex had delivered his yes – and, with some amount of embarrassment, his drawing – to Dante. Three days, and finally, it was ready.

“Are you _sure_ about this?” Envy asked in a strangely dubious tone. He was sitting on the homunculus’s shoulder, watching Dante ready the materials she needed at the front of the room. “If something goes wrong-“

“She’s _your_ master, isn’t she?”

“Yes,” Envy sighed. “I’m just worried about you.”

“How sweet,” Alex drawled, mostly to cover up the genuine surprise that Envy was _worried._ Envy hadn’t initially given off a particularly cuddly impression, but Alex kept catching him petting Mei’s panda and making not-so-subtle goopy eyes at Fletcher, and the moments of humanity put his concerns to rest – for the most part. “I notice nobody else has bothered making an appearance.”

“Oh, my siblings? They’re busy. Sloth might drop by at some point, but usually it’s just me here.”

That sounded awfully lonely. No wonder Envy was so glad to have the four new apprentices around. He never joined in with them, exactly; just watched over them from a distance, somewhere between bodyguard and groundskeeper. Mei had admitted to Alex that he made her uncomfortable, but when Alex had pressed her on it, she’d shrugged and stared at the ground. He supposed the Red Stone thing wasn’t… _great,_ but Red Stones didn’t _need_ human lives, unless you were trying to create a proper Stone. That was the conclusion he’d come to, and he hadn’t asked Envy about it, mostly because it made plenty of sense to him, and that was what mattered. (If it had occurred to Alex at any point that he was rationalizing, he’d ignored it.)

More than anything… more than _anything,_ he wanted this body. 

“Envy,” Dante said in a sharp, commanding voice. “It’s ready.”

Envy walked forward, careful to avoid the chalk lines on the ground, and placed Alex carefully at the exact middle. Oh god. Okay. This was terrifying. Alex hadn’t thought through how scary it was going to be to _get transmuted._

_Don’t die, don’t die, don’t die…_

The room lit up. And then – as he’d feared and predicted – the Gate yawned before him. Closed.

BACK SO SOON?

Alex sighed, staring down the body that was not his – that he _rejected_ as his. It didn’t bother him as much this time. On somebody else, it might even have been pretty. “Only for a moment. Hopefully.”

YOU’RE PLAYING WITH FIRE.

“I’m finding a loophole. I don’t _need_ that body. I’ll have my own.”

The Gatekeeper looked… concerned. Funny. Alex had never seen what _concerned_ looked like on that face – the droop of the lip, the way the thin eyebrows pulled together. More than that, he didn’t even think the Gatekeeper could _show_ concern.

THE RULES OF NATURE ARE NOT SO EASILY BYPASSED.

“The rules of nature are _shit._ Besides, what’s the difference between the rules of nature and what everybody else decides are the rules of nature? It’s _people_ who tell me that I can’t be a boy. Nature has nothing to do with it.”

I DON’T CARE FOR PETTY HUMAN THINGS LIKE GENDER. THAT ISN’T MY CONCERN.

Alex frowned. The Gatekeeper – not in his memories, not in their prior concerns – had never sounded so…human. Then he crossed his arms, trying not to smirk. “Didn’t you say something about humanity being contagious?”

IT IS. I WISH YOU WOULD STOP COMING BACK HERE.

“Aw, making your life hard?”

YOU ARE A SPITEFUL LITTLE THING.

“Spite is keeping me alive. Spite gets things done.”

HAVE IT YOUR WAY.

He was probably imagining it, Alex thought. The sound of regret in a voice that, when he’d first encountered it as it tore his body away, had been as empty and hollow as a void.

* * *

“Is he awake yet?”

“Master Dante said it would take _time.”_

“How much time?”

“I’m not an alchemist,” Envy’s apologetic voice answered. “And this isn’t precisely normal alchemy anyway.”

“I don’t like this,” Fletcher’s voice echoed. Everything sounded so much… _more._ More what, Alex couldn’t say. More something. “This doesn’t seem…right.”

“Oh, please. You can’t leave him in a body like that forever. This is…unorthodox, I suppose, but we came here to learn from her _because_ she’s unorthodox. Mei, you are being so quiet it is _unnerving._ ”

“Don’t mind me,” Mei said quietly. Then she leant down over Alex, and he jumped as her fingers pressed against his neck. Warm textured pressure heartbeat blood –

He sprang upwards, away from the hand. He could feel it. He could feel the carpet under his hands, and he gripped it, almost tearing it to pieces. He could feel the gusts of wind in the room from people talking.

“Alex?” Mei asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m-“ Then he stopped. His voice took _work._ It took work to talk again. To move his tongue, move his teeth in the right direction, lips pressing against each other, slightly sticky. And –

He raised a hand to his chest, brushed it upwards over his pecs. Flat. And going to _stay_ flat. Then he glanced over to Lyra, who had _noticed –_ and dropped his hand. Back onto the carpet which was soft scratchy multifilamented and oh my god he could feel _everything,_ he could smell the faint scent of hyacinth perfume, the shampoo that Mei had used on her hair, the fresh smell of soil from under Fletcher’s fingernails –

Envy knelt down next to him, clearly ignoring the wary look Mei gave him. “How are you feeling?”

“I – I –“

“It’s a lot. I know. Take a deep breath.”

Alex realized he’d been _holding_ it. He breathed in – and promptly sneezed. When was the last time he’d _sneezed?_

“Your friends have been pretty worried about you,” Envy added, with a soft smile.

“Friends?” Lyra scoffed. “I – I wouldn’t call us _friends._ We’re, co-apprentices. Coworkers. Roommates.”

“You’re _blushing,_ ” Fletcher noted – and got swatted on his arm for the trouble.

“We just wanted to be sure you woke up alright,” Mei smiled. “You were unconscious for a while.”

“Y-yeah.” Everything was… so much. Sound noise light feeling – he kind of wanted to curl up in a ball and shut it all off, except he couldn’t, he couldn’t make it go away –

Dimly, from outside the sound of things _working_ and _moving_ inside him and the wind against the curtains outside and his feet against the carpet, he heard Envy saying something to the other three. They left, and Alex couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad, he could barely even _think-_

Then Envy sat down next to him, legs folded, and offered him… something. Blanket. Alex reached for it – and the softness took him by surprise.

“Lie back,” Envy prompted, keeping his voice low. Alex did so, and Envy pulled the blanket over him. It was _heavy._ Heavier than a normal blanket. It… almost hurt? But it helped. It damped down everything he was feeling, even if his head still hurt.

“…How’d… How’d you know?” Alex managed to get out after a little bit. His tongue was starting to understand what he wanted from it, and he was starting to remember how you made syllables. It just was going to take a little bit of practice.

“We’re made very similarly. When I was born… everything was so _overwhelming._ ” Envy laid down next to Alex, leaning on his elbows and kicking his legs behind him. He looked so _young_ like this. Alex couldn’t help but wonder how old he actually was. “Dante doesn’t think about it that way. She did her job and she’s probably impatient to see how it worked. But I remember what it felt like.”

“You said you… weren’t human before.”

Envy shook his head. “So it’s still _different._ You’ve got memories to draw on. But it’s also not the body you’re used to.”

Alex hadn’t even stood up yet, but he could feel what Envy was talking about already. Remembering senses was so hard, but he was sure that he hadn’t had _this_ keen a sense of smell before. And all of his weight was in different places, including –

Alex found his face turning hot, and Envy laughed – not unkindly, but enough to make the blush worse. “It’s going to be a while before you get used to people being able to _see_ you again, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t look,” said Envy archly, “but I have it on good authority that Dante followed through on _all_ your requests.” At Alex’s horrified glance, he conceded, “Lyra peeked. I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

“Oh god.” Beat. “Did she-“

“I’m not part of this! Flirt with her all you like. But she seemed happy enough.” Envy chuckled, but Alex caught a lingering sadness in his face.

“…Do you not, uh… do that?”

“I _can,_ ” Envy said with a shrug. “But I’ve got E- Pride and Sloth. I’m happy.”

“Is Pride the one who came up with this blanket thing?”

Envy nodded, brushing a stray strand of bronze hair out of his face. “He’s really smart. I hope you two get along okay.”

“Is that a concern?”

“He can be a _little_ prickly,” Envy admitted, still smiling. “I keep him out of trouble.”

Alex felt the tension slowly draining out of his muscles. Muscles. He had _muscles_ now. “How does… this work?”

“This? Oh, your new body.” He shrugged. “It’s like most bodies. You need to eat, although less than regular people.”

“I thought you only ate Red Stones.”

“I think she was experimenting. But… you are going to have to take Red Stones.” He looked a little uncomfortable at that. “It… won’t stay together otherwise.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry! They don’t _hurt._ Or, well, they don’t hurt us.”

Alex swallowed nervously, then sat up, pushing the weighted blanket away. “They’re not… the ones you use aren’t _all –_ “

Envy didn’t show any sign of artifice when he replied with a smile, “No, don’t worry. Just everything you’d find in Red Water. I brought you one, if you want to get started.”

“Started? What does it _feel_ like? It’s like food, right?”

Envy blew out his cheeks, clearly chewing over his words. “It… feels good. I don’t think food does that. I only eat for pleasure, so I can’t say.” Then Alex realized that there was a faint hint of a blush on Envy’s cheeks now.

“You were saying you didn’t _do_ that kind of thing. Sex.”

“Oh, no, sex is fun. I just don’t get quite the same thing from it as other people.” Envy sat up, kneeling in front of Alex with a curious expression. He pulled the Red Stone from his pocket. “It’s probably easier to show you,” he said, low voice picking up a hitch in it.

Alex felt a thrill go down his spine. Every sensation he was feeling was new, even when it wasn’t. And – god, being trapped in a doll hadn’t stopped him from fantasizing, but being in a body that pulsed and breathed and moved on its own just made it all that more so. Envy had given him enough information to take a guess, and even if Alex was about ninety percent sure he was into girls, Envy’s fingers were touching his cheek so _gently,_ his new nerves responding more than they should –

Envy’s hand moved down to coax Alex’s mouth open with a thumb. With his other hand, he pushed the glowing Red Stone inside, two fingers sliding it between Alex’s lips. The taste hit him first – the acidic, almost vinegary taste of the solid before it dissolved into thick viscous liquid on his tongue. It burned, almost, and was too sweet and too salty and too bitter all at once –

Envy’s hand touched the back of his neck. “Swallow,” he commanded, again in that low voice, and Alex didn’t know when he’d closed his eyes, but he swallowed, and –

- _oh, oh, oh, that’s what they felt like, that was what Envy had meant –_

Alex realized he was hyperventilating. Everything had been overwhelming before, but now it was like a crystal clear picture, everything so bright and dizzy that he could barely even remember being in that stupid doll or anything before it, there was just this room and him and Envy, Envy, who – when Alex opened his eyes a bit at a time – was looking at him with a hungry, pleased expression.

“What’s your real name?” Alex asked suddenly, the Stone flooding through his veins giving him courage he’d never expected. No more Lexie. No more shy. No more cowering behind somebody else. God, he could take on the _world_ like this. “The one you use with Edward.”

“Don’t call him that when he’s here. He’ll get so mad.” But Envy was considering it. He slipped a second Red Stone into his mouth, his pupils fluttering as he did. “But… if you promise it’s between us.”

“I promise.”

“Alphonse.”

Alphonse. He’d heard it maybe once in passing, but having it confirmed was good. He liked Alphonse. He liked Alphonse a _lot_ more than he thought he did. Maybe it was just the thrill of a new body and a new substance and knowing that he could do anything, anything he wanted, _anything –_

“Fuck me,” he said, surprising himself as the words fell from his mouth. But he didn’t care, he just wanted to feel even better.

“Aren’t you-“

Alex pressed his lips – clumsily, passionately – to Envy’s. He’d been watching the older boy’s eyes on him the whole time. And he hadn’t even looked in a mirror, but he _felt_ worth admiring. It felt right. For the first time, for the first _fucking time –_

“I won’t fuck you,” Alphonse exhaled, “but-“ His hands slid down Alex’s shoulders, his chest – a flat chest, a boy’s chest, nothing awkward or strange about it anymore – and down towards the black shorts he didn’t remember wearing or owning. “Do you trust me?”

Alex nodded, even though he wasn’t sure what Alphonse meant – and then Alphonse’s fingers slid past the waistband and closed around him and shit shit _shit_ it felt completely different than he expected-

Alphonse kissed his cheek, maneuvering until Alex was in his lap. “Good,” he breathed. And then, such a little thing, something Alex didn’t even realize he wanted to hear – “You look great.”

So stupid. But it made him blush enough to bury his face into the crook of Envy – Al’s – neck.

It’d been worth it, after all.

* * *

Fuhrer Roy Mustang put up a good show for the idiots who followed him, but Pride had known him too long to take any of it in good faith anymore. He’d shown up in disguise, but once they were alone in the Fuhrer’s lush office, Pride dropped the Heiderich skin and threw the photograph onto his desk.

“Are you trying to cause problems?” he ordered.

Riza glanced at the photograph, then looked away, adjusting her glasses. Pride knew her well enough to know she had plenty of opinions of her own.

Roy just glanced at the photograph, then up at Pride with a wry smile. “You know,” he said lightly, “I’d almost forgotten.”

“Don’t play your fucking games with me. I went through those archives fifty years ago. Where did _that_ come from?”

Roy shrugged, the padded-uniform shoulders making him look bigger than he really was. Fucking asshole. Pride had _watched_ him get made. He knew how skinny those shoulders really were.

Okay, he was being petty today. But he had every right.

“Perhaps you just weren’t diligent enough. I see no reason why I should be held to task for your sloppin-“

In retrospect, Pride took a lot of joy out of knowing that Riza _could_ have stopped him, very easily. It made it all that more satisfying that he’d smashed Roy’s face into the desk. Consequences be damned.

Roy groaned, clutching his nose and glaring at Pride as it slowly healed. “Brat-“

“No. No, let’s be absolutely clear here, _Roy._ I am your _older_ sibling. _I_ call the shots. I know how to keep us safe. You are the dumb prick who thinks that I don’t know how much you like being in charge.”

Roy wiped his nose, then straightened up. “Who doesn’t?” he conceded.

“You let it go to your head. Forget again that I put you here and I’ll do more than break your nose.”

The Fuhrer huffed, but the message had clearly gotten across. Not that Pride didn’t expect to have to send it again. Whatever it was Roy had against _him,_ specifically –

He flicked his eyes over to Riza, who still hadn’t said anything. Actually, no. He had a pretty good idea. Riza had, smartly, stayed out of it, but there was a reason he didn’t usually lose his temper like this.

“Was there anything else?” Roy asked icily.

“No,” he sighed. “I’m heading back to Dublith soon-“

“You should stay. I might need you. Besides, if anything happens with Fullmetal, I’m sure Envy can handle it. With some help.”

He was about to respond to that, when the rest processed – “He isn’t _here?_ ”

“I thought you kept on top of these things better. He left for Dublith days ago.”

Pride let out a loud curse in a long-dead language. At least Riza looked just as deeply unimpressed in the background. “Jesus _shit,_ Roy!”

“Oh, please. You’re not allowed to kill him anyway.”

“You’d be surprised what you can live through,” he replied darkly. Fuck this. He was out. He stormed past Roy and towards the door –

-then, in a moment of nostalgia, glanced back over his shoulder. Riza noticed, and from her position standing behind Roy, gave a small little wave.

He smiled back, and even if he was ready to kill Roy, he felt a little better as he closed the door behind him. She hadn’t forgotten him, even if it felt that way sometimes.

He missed her. More than he’d admit. And if that played a role in how willing he was to antagonize Roy in equal measure to Roy fucking with him –

-ah, who was he kidding? Of course it did.


	15. Flawed Design

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for body horror, chemical poisoning, non-canonical character death, hallucinations/mental illness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is by Stabilo!
> 
> If anybody is confused as to why the Tringham story is so different, remember that the “Elric brothers” in this version aren’t a thing; Will is the only one known to the public, so Fletcher didn’t come with Russell.
> 
> Update Dec 4th: While I wrestled a bit on how much to leave untranslated, I decided to add in this particular cultural convention, both for humour and for worldbuilding. Neither Ranfan or Juliet call Zhu Huan by name - Ranfan calls him 'shifu' (master) and Juliet/Yingtai calls him Jiù jiu (uncle). The closest Ranfan will get is internally calling him Huan-shifu (as opposed to Zhu-shifu) but she is VERY formal out loud. Bao, on the other hand, while older than both of them, isn't.... quite *treated* like he is. So while Yingtai is polite to his face, she's... not so much so, otherwise.

~15~

_And I will turn off  
And I will shut down  
Burying the voices of my conscience hitting ground  
And I will turn off  
And I will shut down  
The chemicals are restless in my head_

_- **Flawed Design**_

Russell Tringham was younger than him – not enough to matter for anything else, but enough that as Will looked back and forth among the lab, he couldn’t help the bitter lump in his throat. It was one thing when old alchemists made stupid mistakes and got themselves killed. Russell wasn’t fifteen yet. And –

“How many times do I have to kick you out, Elric?”

Will turned towards the open door, the light streaming through hiding Russell’s expression but not the tone of his voice. “Sounds like you were expecting me,” he shot back, but the tug of Alex’s nervous hands on his hair reminded him that he didn’t have _time._ “…Tringham, what are you doing?”

“Making Red Water. It’s one of the ways we can create the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“You’ll die first.”

“Is that a threat?”

Will exhaled as Russell came down the stairs. “Russell, you’re not gonna fight me. I’m on your side-“

“Bullshit.”

“Seriously. You think _I_ don’t want a Philosopher’s Stone?”

Russell paused at that, one foot a step lower than the other. Will could see his face now – the confusion writ large. “…You do. Right. I remember.” It was a lie. But one that Will could handle, because he knew _why._ “You’re still not going to stop me.”

“I don’t have to.” Will took a few steps towards Russell, anger warring with another feeling he couldn’t describe. Russell backed away, his legs shaking lightly – but when Will reached for him, it wasn’t a punch. He just grabbed a handful of Russell’s hair, and it came loose, falling from his grip.

“You’re not stupid, Russell. You’re smart enough to steal my name and rank to get away with your research. Come on, you idiot, you must _know_ you’re dying.”

“If I make the Stone in time-“

“If! If you do! And what do you think this crap is doing to _Xenotime?_ ”

Russell’s face set back into a flat affect. “You’re lying to me. You want it for yourself.”

“I-“

But Russell was done listening. He slammed his hand against one of the arrays on the floor, and vines started crawling through the brick. Shit, shit, shit –

“Will, he’s too far gone-“

“So are we if we don’t get off this floor in time!” He fled for the door – and Russell’s paranoia had gotten the better of him after all, because the floor was coming apart. Will managed to hook his automail hand on one of the stair banisters, and he watched as the shelves of sulfuric acid, cinnabar, strontium, antimony – some of the most toxic materials in the world, all collapsing below them.

The bricks under Will’s feet gave way, and he immediately clapped his other hand to Alex. “Alex, go, _go,_ you’re light enough –“

“I’m not leaving you here,” Alex insisted. He clambered up onto the intact part of the stairs, past the hole in the floor.

“Where’s Russell?” Will glanced around the room, then below them. Under his kicking feet, the river of Red Water stretched. Plenty of it was naturally-occurring, which made it all the worse. But a little wouldn’t hurt a town. Before Russell and Mugear had intervened, Will doubted it’d been more than a trickle, a tiny stream. Now it was a rushing flood, toxic elements from Earth’s crust mingling with new additions and sending toxic fumes up into the air.

“You know what, time to go.” Will latched his other hand to the banister, hoisting himself up onto the shaking stone. Then he made the mistake of looking down.

Russell had fallen into the cavern. He dragged himself out of the river of Red Water, and even from above, Will could see the damage. Acid was eating away at his flesh, layers peeling off as he watched in horror, and Russell gave a choking cough, blood spewing from his mouth. If he’d had any chance of living more than a month or two, it was gone. Will wasn’t certain he’d survive the day.

“What on earth is happening here?” Mugear came through the door, and stared at the devastation – the broken floor, the vapours coming through – and immediately tried to flee.

“Oh no you don’t!” Will kicked him in the back, and dug a knee into his spine. “You _must_ have a failsafe somewhere. I know pigs like you. Wouldn’t risk your _own_ home and health.”

“I do, but – but – I’ll never surrender it!”

“Your little prodigy just got dropped into a river of poison. He’s got hours before he’s dead, but until then he is _insanely, insanely_ powerful. Should we wait until he gets back up here?”

“I- Please, stop him! I don’t –“

Will dug his knee further into Mugear’s back.

“The lever! The lever in the lab! It collapses the whole cave!”

It was the best he was going to be able to do. He could already feel the vapours getting to him, making him dizzy and lightheaded – but not lightheaded enough. He took his knee off of Mugear’s back, but the second the older man sat up, he grabbed his head and wrenched his neck into a brutal _snap._

Then he searched for the lever. It was by the stairs, but just far enough away that he was going to have to stretch. He slammed his hands together – then thought better of it. Everything was too unstable as it was, and it was only going to get worse. So he looped his leg into the banister and reached over.

“Will! Will, he’s –“

He glanced down. Russell stood below him, visibly shaking, blood dripping from his nose and mouth and eyes. A dead man walking.

“…I’m sorry,” Will murmured under his breath. He pulled the lever. Something exploded, then another, and another – and the rocks began to fall, tipping into the river of Red Water. Russell still didn’t move. He could have alchemized something, used the power of his last few hours to escape, on the off chance that there was anything, _anything_ that anybody could do.

_Will_ could have rescued him. If he’d been willing to breathe in a little more of the toxic fumes. If he’d thought there was even a slim chance. If he didn’t believe, with a quiet resignation, that Russell would just keep doing the same thing.

So he grabbed Alex, and fled. But that last look – Russell’s blond hair sparse and stained on his head, those keen green eyes smudged and faded, and the waiting, expectant curve to his mouth – that stayed with him.

The least he could pray for was that Russell had died quickly.

* * *

Will snapped awake, bile rising in his mouth.

He didn’t usually dream about Russell. Thought about him, sure, from time to time, but usually his nightmares relived more standard fare, like the transmutation, or his fight with the Ishvalan. But he supposed his conversation with Izumi had got him thinking about alchemic amplifiers again.

He buried his face in his hands, scrubbing back and forth to try wake himself up. At least dreams couldn’t replicate the _smell._

Well, the good news is he’d be getting plenty of time to himself, without awful reminders. Izumi had stormed about, clearly trying to change plans last-minute, until Sig had let on that she’d fully intended on parking him and Alex on Yock Island for at least a week or two.

“Don’t change plans on my account,” he’d snarked. “I can handle it alone.”

And of course, Izumi’s eyebrow had gone up, he’d realized he was going to get shoved onto the island for _sure_ now, and Sig was taking him by boat today. It’d be fine. But when he left his room, Izumi was nowhere to be seen. Just Sig, chopping meat.

“Where’s Izumi?”

“In bed. She’s not well. I’ll still take you today.”

Well, that worked. He couldn’t help but give a guilty glance at Izumi’s closed door. Of course she was sick, after coming all the way to Central to get him. But he couldn’t help but feel like – well – he _knew_ she was mad at him. But more than that, he knew Alex was her favourite. Alex was her baby. He was – still _loved,_ still _cherished,_ but he wasn’t Alex, and that just cut all the deeper that he’d been the one to chase him away.

Sig didn’t speak on the way to the island, but Will had expected that. Sig was a man of few words. But when they reached the shore –

“Here.” Sig handed Will a pack he hadn’t noticed. Will raised an eyebrow, then glanced inside it. A knife. Some jerky. A lighter.

“I don’t – c’mon, we didn’t have all this last time and it worked fine.”

“It’s just you this time.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat, and forced on a smile. “Well, still. I can transmute things, I can hunt, it’s fine.”

Sig gazed at him with his charcoal eyes until he felt restless. Then he nodded, grunted, and got back in the boat.

Will watched him leave, the hollow feeling opening in his stomach – then he threw the pack against one of the trees by the shore, and strode into the forest. He remembered it here. Without thinking about it, he slipped off his sandals, toes curling into the soft loam. Izumi was probably going to judge the hell out of him for how often he fought and walked around barefoot, but as far as he was concerned, his feet were just as useful as his hands for navigating and understanding his environment.

Then, exactly what he’d been worried about showed up. Or rather, who.

He sighed, deflating just a little as he looked over at Trisha Elric, standing among the trees with one of her hands resting on the trunk of a tall oak. In an environment like this, she was all the more obviously Not There; the light through the leaves didn’t stop at her, and there were no shadows on her face.

Will had long since gotten over the flinch reaction. At this point, it was just _exhausting._

“When I said I wanted to be alone,” he grumbled, “I was serious.”

She cocked her head, staring at him. Then she said, “You don’t _have_ to be, you know.”

He was a little surprised she’d spoken. She _did,_ sometimes, but it wasn’t that common. She tended to look on silently more than anything else. “What, serious?”

“I meant alone. But that too.”

Will sighed, and walked away, trying to ignore her. So much for some peace and quiet. But she reappeared in front of him, crossing her arms and stopping him in the middle of a clearing.

“I hate it when you do that,” he mumbled.

“You can’t walk away from a figment of your imagination.” Her mouth was twitching at the corners.

“Is that a smile? You’re _smiling._ I can’t believe you’re amused by this.” He jabbed a finger at her shoulder, and met only air. Obviously. It was the principle of the thing.

“And you’re not?”

Will just plopped down onto the ground of the clearing, crossing his arms right back and glaring up at her. “Fine. You have any nuggets of wisdom to share, embodiment of my mommy issues?”

She did laugh at that, leaning against a tree with her hands folded in front of her. It was weird, thought Will. He didn’t even know if the hallucination was _accurate_ anymore or not. It’d been so long since he’d even seen a picture of his mom. But it _felt_ accurate. The loose side-ponytail, her hair just as deep wood-brown as Alex’s, eyes a piercing green that neither of them had been lucky enough to inherit, down to the dress she always wore around the house with the apron knotted around her middle.

“You’re staring.”

“As far as reality is concerned, I’m staring at a tree.” He relented, though, admitting, “I still can’t decide whether I like hallucinating you or not.”

She made a thoughtful face at that, bobbing her head sideways. “Hallucinations aren’t _generally_ considered enjoyable.”

That was accurate enough. He stared down at his feet, rather than looking at her for too long. He’d been thinking this for a while, but it was bad enough being crazy in the first place. “You’re a little more than a hallucination, aren’t you? I – I don’t know. My hallucinations that I _worry_ about are things like the Gate, or when my brain decides there are bugs all over the walls. Those are fucked up and I hate them. You’re…different.”

She didn’t seem to know what to say to that – which, Will reflected, was already a lot more depth than he’d expected. Usually when she appeared, she spouted pat lines, advice, or just stood there watching him.

He put his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. “I should be done missing you by now.”

“You never… really stop missing somebody.”

“Wonderful. That bodes well for how I feel right now.”

“It gets _better._ With time. I know you don’t want to hear this, but I missed Phillip until the day I-“

“Stop there,” Will croaked. “We’re not doing _this_ shit again. And for fuck’s sake, can we stop pretending you’re actually my mom? You’re like a – a rusted photo album. That doesn’t make any sense. I just…”

She stayed silent. He could feel her watching him, which made sense, given that she only existed in his head.

“Alex was your favourite, too,” he mumbled. If she’d really _only_ been his projection of Trisha, some mental trick to keep her alive when he’d failed in every other way, he knew what she’d say. That she loved him best, that he hadn’t done anything wrong – the kind of petty reassurances he was trying to _stop_ deluding himself with. Instead-

“Mothers aren’t meant to have favourites. I didn’t. But – you’re not wrong. I could have handled your temper so much better. And Alex just did what he was told. That’s a horrible reason. I’m sorry.”

Something jarred in his chest. He didn’t know whether or not he’d actually _wanted_ to hear that. And when he opened his eyes – she was gone. Leaving far, far too many questions behind.

* * *

When the figure snuck down the stairs, Zhu Yingtai was – _mostly –_ relieved. She could fight, she could talk, but somehow, in all of the preparations, she’d never learned how to pick a lock. Well, no, that wasn’t quite accurate. She’d assumed _somebody_ else would always be around to do it for her. And then, of course, she’d slipped away from Jiù-jiù and Bao at the border crossing. They’d catch up eventually.

Her best friend – and ironically, the one who _didn’t_ have any actual reason to rescue her – was much harder to get away from. And Ranfan didn’t have to lower her mask for the crossed arms to tell their own story.

“It’s not _my_ fault they’re racists,” Yingtai sighed.

“Where would you _be_ without me?”

“Is that any way to talk to a princess?”

“You’re not my princess.” Ranfan slipped a pin into the lock. “You are just my _incredibly frustrating,_ possibly insane best friend.”

The only response Yingtai could summon to that was to childishly stick out her tongue. “Did you find anything interesting?”

“Like I’d tell you.”

“Are you really _that_ mad at me? We both know you don’t give a damn about that spoiled brat you’re here for.”

Ranfan didn’t respond to that one, and Yingtai quietly bit her tongue, before correcting, “Sorry. Young prince.”

“You’re not that much better.”

“I shake my entourage and you immediately start being mean to me.” 

“They’re in Central, by the way.” Ranfan finally got the lock to click into place, and swung the door open. “Shifu is _not_ happy with you.”

“Who ever is?” Juliet offered up the handcuffs, and she could tell by the way that Ranfan looked down at the cuffs that she was tempted to leave them on. But she sighed, and broke the lock.

“I… _might_ have a lead.” Then she jabbed a finger into Yingtai’s face. “But you are not going to run after it on your own. We had a deal.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Not that the elder Yaos _or_ Zhus would approve. But Ranfan’s heir was a spoiled four year old who threw temper tantrums, and Yingtai-

“ _Nì jìng chū_ _rén_ _cái,_ ” she mumbled. Rebellion created capability. They could have gone questing for people they didn’t give a damn about, or they could help each other – and both get what they deserved. “Tell me about that lead.”

“I was watching from the roof and – well – one of the soldiers here… He’s _wrong._ ”

“Wrong?”

“His qi is all muddled, like it’s multiple people at once.” Was that excitement in Ranfan’s voice, or nervousness? Probably both. “And he _is._ ”

“…What does _that_ mean?”

“He changes his face. Other people don’t notice. He’s very careful. But his qi doesn’t change – just his face, his body. I don’t know how he’s doing it.”

Now that _was_ interesting. And definitely had a scent of the Grand Elixir to it. Even if it somehow wasn’t, the ability to shapeshift… “Did you get any of his identities?”

“I did. And I know where he’ll be tomorrow.”

This time Yingtai _did_ smile. Finally, things were looking up. 


	16. Even The Spirits Are Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: uncanny-valley-humanity, violence/body horror, however I tag that very sad feeling of a friendship that isn’t quite there anymore, mental illness/delusions, psychiatric/therapist abuse-ish?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is by The Gathering.
> 
> There is ART in this chapter!!! The very very pretty art is by @Red_Dragon_Art, who can be found at this link: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/thereddragon13/

~16~

_You think you were earning  
Burning the church of your god  
You were yearning  
Learning the birth of your dirt  
Did you think you earned it  
Burning your god  
That you thought messed up your life?_

**_-Even The Spirits Are Afraid_ **

Fletcher had to admit, Alex looked good. When he’d first seen the animated doll, moving skillfully but held back by sheer size, he hadn’t imagined much. Even the name Alex didn’t give away much in the way of gender. All he knew is that Bradley definitely wasn’t his real name, and that something terrible must have happened to strip him down to nothing but a soul.

Now, watching Alex and Lyra practice combat alchemy with each other, Fletcher thought Alex looked a little _too_ good. Unreal. Pale skin, eyes that were _supposed_ to be purple but glinted red in the right light, and long black hair in a loose braid at the center of his back. Fletcher had seen it loose, too – a thick, soft mane that flowed down his back. And the way he moved –

Even as Fletcher thought it, Alex slid effortlessly past a rain of (blunted) knives, behind Lyra and hooked an arm casually around her neck. Had Alex realized that he was too strong, too fast, too flexible for a supposedly-human body? Fletcher didn’t know what Dante had actually promised him. Maybe this was a stop-gap measure.

Or maybe there were strings attached.

Fletcher pulled his knees closer to his chest, trying not to feel so _miserable._ Dante was an excellent teacher. In just over a week here, he’d already learned so much. Words for things he’d been doing by instinct. Alchemy was drawn from the shift and move of the tectonic plates below them, which was why having both feet on the ground for strong alchemy was so useful. _Grounding_ was the name for what he’d always done – making sure his consciousness settled somewhere behind his sternum before he transmuted anything. The reason he got so tired after big transmutations was because of _energy exchange,_ the underlying give and take of energy that twinned with the deconstruction and reconstruction of matter.

But-

He still didn’t know where his brother was. Alex had promised to tell him, and he was terrified to hold Alex to his word, because it meant Russell was probably dead. But he wasn’t going to give up that easily. And he wasn’t going to overlook all the danger signals right in front of him as the others bought in to the myth Dante was selling.

“Fletcher,” came the voice behind him. He smoothed his face into a quiet smile before he rose, bowing respectfully to Dante and Mei behind him. Dante looked as wizened as ever, and Mei was holding a paper bag, practically beaming. “I’m sending Mei into town to deliver some medication to one of my old students. She said she would love it if you accompanied her.”

“O-oh. Yeah, sure.”

Dante held her gaze on him a little longer than necessary – then inclined her head and sent them on their way. Fletcher had to admit he was glad to stretch his legs, _and_ to spend a little more time with Mei. Although –

He stuck his hands in his pockets, trying not to let his anxiety ruin everything again. They’d talked so _naturally_ before. “Are you really a princess?” he asked finally after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

Mei glanced at him, raised an eyebrow, and _humphed._ “Master Dante was asking me the same thing. Yes, I’m really a princess.”

“So you’re going to be a queen some day?”

Maybe she’d intuited some of why he was nervous, because she giggled, one of her braids falling loose from the twin buns at the back of her head as she did. “Oh, _probably_ not. But I’m giving it a shot!”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, I just told Dante most of this,” she sighed, “and here _you_ are asking. I’m a princess, yes, but my father has so many children that it doesn’t matter.”

“How many?”

“Uhh…let’s see… there are two for Zhu, the Xues got _triplets,_ just one for Long since the older one got pneumonia… fifty-six?”

Fletcher was suddenly glad he wasn’t carrying anything. He would have dropped it. “ _What._ ”

“Is that not how you do it here?” She was teasing, obviously, but Fletcher’s face turned red anyway. “The Emperor of Xing takes a wife from every clan. Fifty wives in total. And we, his children, are the heirs and representatives for our clans.”

“Does the oldest inherit?”

Mei shook her head. “He picks his favourite.”

Oh. Oh _dear._ That seemed… immediately a problem. Fletcher silently thanked whatever gods _did_ exist that Amestris didn’t run that way. “So you’re going to make him happy somehow.”

“I thought I’d try my luck impressing him with something from Amestris!”

“Isn’t there something easier?”

She sighed quietly at that, face an inch away from an irritated pout. “The Changs – _despite_ our _illustrious_ history – are the forty-seventh clan right now. Our status is _supposed_ to be equal, but the other clans don’t like us.”

“So you’re-“

“Poor,” she said bluntly. It obviously took a lot of effort to say that much. “Other clan heirs have bodyguards and servants and all sorts of things like that. They can afford to go hunt in the desert for artifacts to impress the Emperor or venture into the Ardashir temples. I made it here all on my own.”

Fletcher bit his tongue before he made the mistake of pointing out that only he and Lyra had saved her from the vultures. “I get it,” he said instead.

“Really?”

“I mean, not _exactly._ But my dad – he left when Russell and I were young. Russell waited until he was fourteen and then took off after him. The only thing he cared about was making Dad proud of him – and I don’t think Dad even remembered we were his, half the time.”

“What do you mean?” Mei’s eyes were wide, and Fletcher cursed himself for letting that much slip. He didn’t like talking about Dad.

“…He was sick. A lot. I think it was the stuff he worked with. It made him really paranoid and meant he’d see things sometimes.”

“Oh…” Mei didn’t seem to know what to say. “That sounds horrid. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

As they talked, they’d navigated the dirt path winding down the hill, occasionally skipping over roots that had popped out or nearly-out of the dirt from the surrounding trees. Now they were on the edge of the lake, making steady time around the shore to where Dublith proper edged against the water.

“By the way,” Mei said after a little while, breaking the somber mood. “Have you _seen_ how Lyra and Alex are making eyes at each other?”

Fletcher stifled a snort.

“It’s cute! I bet it’s true love,” Mei sighed dreamily.

“After a week?”

“Sometimes true love happens at first sight!”

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Theoretically, he thought maybe it was a thing. But he had a hard time telling the difference between the way he fell in love with _friends,_ and the love that people talked about. Maybe it was the same thing, which meant he was in love with Mei, or maybe he just… hadn’t gotten there yet. “What’s it supposed to be _like?_ ”

“It’s kind of like –“ Then she paused, sighed, and stared up at the trees. “You can stop following us now.”

At first the trees were silent. Then two figures dropped to the ground – one looking very guilty and the other looking as amused as ever. “It was Envy’s idea,” Alex grumbled. Envy just shrugged innocently.

“How long were you there?” Fletcher asked suspiciously.

The blush on Alex’s face told him _plenty._

“Oh, it is true love!”

“There’s no such thing,” Alex complained, the blush getting deeper. “Besides, if it was –“ But then he cut himself off. “How’d you _know?_ ”

Mei stayed quiet at that, eyes flickering suspiciously over to Envy. Fletcher didn’t know why she distrusted him so much. Envy was… _odd,_ certainly, and definitely much older than he looked. But he wasn’t quite as eerie as Alex was, to be honest.

“You can tell, can’t you?” Envy said, sounding so interested that Fletcher thought Mei _must_ be able to drop it –

Instead, she simmered quietly for a moment before answering. “I can tell there’s something wrong with you.”

“Take your pick.” He didn’t seem offended. “That _is_ interesting, though. Fletcher, you had no idea, right?”

“No.”

Envy gave another soft, kind of rueful smile. “I know when I’m not welcome. You three say hi to Izumi for me.”

He reached up, clambering back into the trees with – not _quite_ the smoothness of Alex earlier, but close enough to startle Fletcher. Not the same, no. But…

_You can tell, can’t you?_

Tell what?

“Izumi?” Alex squawked in horror. “Did he just say _Izumi?_ ”

“Who’s Izumi?”

“My – uh – old master. Oh god. She’s going to be so mad at me.” Alex turned to flee – but Mei and Fletcher grabbed him from either side.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Mei teased, her mood already lifting. “You have to tell us about Lyra.”

“Don’t you mean,” and Fletcher threw the back of his hand to his forehead. “ _Lyra?_ ”

“I hate both of you.”

Fletcher glanced over at Mei again. “Any chance you’re gonna tell me what-?” But she shook her head. Later. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to say it in front of Alex. Which…

The arm that Fletcher was holding as he frogmarched Alex towards Dublith was cold. Too cold.

Mei probably had a point.

* * *

Pride was also being followed – with less pure intentions. He wasn’t dumb. He’d caught a few falls of dust, doors staying open too long, little things. Whoever was following him, they were smart.

_More_ troubling was that they’d followed him through a couple different shifts. They’d followed Julian Heiderich, Private Belker, and even Dr. Holland without missing a beat. How, he wasn’t sure. But now night was falling, which meant he had a little more wiggle room for how he dealt with the problem.

First, though…

Riza didn’t notice him at first, letting herself out of the main building of Central Command. That made sense. She hadn’t seen this disguise before – but when she glanced up, she immediately knew who it was. Nothing sentimental about it. He might change faces plenty, but underneath remained the same.

“Well, aren’t you looking spiffy.” She smiled slightly, and he couldn’t help a slight flush at that.

“Sue me. I wanted to try it on.”

She glanced over the young woman in front of her – a Sergeant, with soft red hair. “Stolen, or made?”

“Made. I just did it for kicks.” He fell into step with her as they made their way back to her apartment. She’d managed to keep her own, which was one thing he was thankful for. “I’m not sure how I feel about _breasts,_ conceptually.”

She snickered at that, and he couldn’t help but feel accomplished. Every time he’d seen her for – years, now – she’d suppressed as much emotion as possible under a steely mask. Mustang’s doing. “I’m hardly the person to complain to about that. I don’t suppose this is to spite anybody in particular-“

“Absolutely not,” he lied, and she knew he was lying. She’d been around since almost the beginning. She knew half of anything he did was out of spite. “…It’s been hard to get you alone lately.”

Riza’s smile faded slightly. “Mustang’s nervous. He wants Gluttony taken care of – seems to think he’ll go after _him._ ”

“Not likely. I’m the one Gluttony has it out for.”

“Yes, but… Mustang gave the order.”

Not the order for Gluttony’s creation. The order for the extermination. Pride had almost forgotten what the core problem with Gluttony was – that the _fusion,_ the blending of identity, hadn’t worked properly. Two distinct beings in one body. One of them with a passionate hatred for Amestris and its enablers, the other just desperate to eat.

“I suppose his paranoia _might_ have something to do with it.”

“Lust isn’t helping,” Riza sighed. “Playing house with the Colonel’s subordinate.”

“Hey, do you wanna try tell Lust not to fuck somebody? It doesn’t _work._ ”

“Mustang ordered him to distract Valjean, not –“ But then she shrugged again, eyes rolling upwards to beseech the skies. “What am _I_ saying. Lust can’t stay focused to save his life.”

That sounded more like the Riza he knew. He glanced around, but clearly whoever was following him already _knew._ Maybe this would lure them out of hiding. He dropped the disguise, pulling back to his own form – golden hair, golden eyes, and the moving tattoos swirling on his skin.

“Pride-“

“I know,” he said with a certain amount of amusement. “Let’s see who it is.”

He took a few steps forward, Riza hanging back – and when he reached the corner, he found a knife at his throat. Not a knife. A _sword._

“Found you,” came the triumphant voice. She probably thought she was hidden in the shadows, and to normal eyes, she would have been. Instead, Pride could see her clearly – a young woman with dark-brown hair, determined eyes and a sleeveless buttoned shirt. It had clearly had sleeves before – she’d torn them off, as well as cutting slits in the side of her pencil skirt.

“Good for you,” he responded dourly. “And what do you think it is you’ve found?”

“Something like you wasn’t created through mortal means. I want the Stone.”

It was always the fucking Stone, wasn’t it? He’d been having a nice night with Riza, and _almost_ able to pretend she wasn’t avoiding him most of the time. And now he was cranky again. He was tempted to hack some up just to discourage her. “Yeah, not gonna happen.”

The sword slammed into his stomach before he managed to say anything more, the girl’s hand grabbing his shoulder. Shit. He’d expected a _little_ more tense banter first.

She pulled the sword out – double ow – and threw him against the wall, advancing on –

Christ.

Riza stood there, not moving, not responding. So of course the girl went in for a sword strike –

-and came to a sudden, choking halt. She stared down at the hand that had slammed against her sternum. Riza hadn’t moved other than that one hand. The girl’s weight hadn’t pushed her back at all.

The girl raised the thin sword – and a shot rang out. The sword clattered to the ground, hilt spattered with blood, and a scream of pain followed it. Pride winced in sympathy – gunshots to the hand were bad at the _best_ of times, and at that close range…

Riza cocked her head, coldly examining the girl. “Who are _you?_ ”

“Yingtai of Zhu clan, Juliet Douglas,” she choked out through the pain, “I – let me go,” she said softly as Riza’s hand moved from her sternum to her neck. “Let me go, let me go, let me go.”

“Maybe you should, Liz,” Pride said quietly from the wall. Riza started at the old nickname, glaring at him. Even through the sunglasses, he could see the tattoos – irises shaped like dragons, pupils in the shape of a star. “She’s lost.”

“She hurt you.”

“And I’m fine. I’m just not stupid enough to get in the way of you and your prey.”

“Good. Then don’t.”

Pride had expected her to break the poor girl’s neck. But instead, another shot rang out. This time to the shoulder. Then she rapped the gun against her temple, the would-be attacker falling limp.

“The sword’s yours, if you want it,” Riza said. All the emotion and spark that he’d been so happy to see in her again was gone. Then she threw the limp body over her shoulder and took off – not towards her apartment, but towards one of the Labs.

Pride sighed, picking up the blood-spattered sword. When Lust had first shown up, he’d had one too – not exactly like this one, no, shorter, curved, with only one sharp edge. But it was definitely Xingese. Zhu clan, huh? They were functionally without an heir now. Wrath liked to drag out her executions. He’d thought she’d gotten over that.

He’d thought a lot of things. He probably should have felt bad about the girl, and he _did._ Mostly, though, the bitter taste in his mouth was because he’d almost believed his best friend was still in there.

* * *

_Selim?_

_Can you hear me?_

He felt stupid. He was sitting in the water of one of Yock’s small pools, staring into the air. This had seemed like a smart idea about five minutes ago. Well, no. It had felt stupid at the time too.

The good news, Will sighed, was that there was every chance that he was making the whole thing up. Dr. Holland had taken him to task for that before –

_Ah, yes, the lovely Dr. Holland._ But Will couldn’t avoid that Holland had been the one to point out that Will had to correct for a shaky sense of reality. Not a _wrong_ one – and it pissed Will off no end that even now, that brought him some comfort – but a different one. He had to function both in his own reality and in everybody else’s, and that was where the stress really came in.

Fucking… Dr. Holland. If he’d been a useless fuck-off of a therapist, it wouldn’t suck so bad. But every time Will thought about him, he had to ready himself for a prolonged ‘how much of this was bullshit manipulation’ session. Not to mention…

He winced. That one time he’d been ranting and raving in Dr. Holland’s office about how – god, what _had_ it been? He didn’t remember the incident too well. He’d kept it together everywhere _but_ there, when Holland had asked him why he kept tensing up. Something about there being a small god under his skin? Thinking about it was frankly terrifying. And Holland hadn’t gotten mad at him. He’d sat him down, given him tea with something in it – valerian, maybe? – and talked him through it. How being meant for something didn’t mean he should take any less responsibility for his mistakes. The importance of free will. Silly things, things that had pulled the desperate fixation out of his bones and, not made it go away, but eased the toll it was taking on him.

He hadn’t slept for almost a week before that session. So he’d fallen asleep on Holland’s armchair, curled up so tightly that his muscles complained when he woke up.

Holland could have killed him then – if he wanted to, so badly.

Will rubbed his face, then pulled his hands away in irritation when he realized his face was wet. He didn’t care _that_ much.

_You do. I don’t blame you, though._

“Shut up, fake-mom,” Will growled.

_Fake-mom?_

Then he froze. Oh. Shit. That wasn’t Trisha, that was –

The overlay happened again. One reality on top of another. He was in a bathroom, hands in the sink, and then he looked up and-

“Took you long enough,” Selim said quietly, and without a hint of surprise.


	17. How We Operate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: offscreen underage… sex?? Sexting?? I don’t even know what it is (it is however fully consensual), discussed suicide attempts, discussed mental illness/ableism, joking self-referential sanism, implied alcoholism, character death/grieving, self-destructive behaviour, torture, forced nudity, deliberate dissociation, and holy hell this is a long list of TWs. TLDR; There’s underage Consensual Sex, a Torture Scene, and Incredibly Bad Trauma Coping Skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is by Gomez, and made particularly famous by the Grey’s Anatomy musical episode! Kevin McKidd is a good damn singer.
> 
> Also, I got enough screaming from evil Al. Evil Riza should be interesting. :333333

~17~

_Please come here_   
_Come right on over_   
_And when we collide we'll see what gets left over_

**_-How We Operate_ **

“Long enough?” Will sputtered. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Selim just raised an eyebrow at him. Will was submerged in a pool somewhere wild, the overhangs of trees becoming clearer as they passed through the edges of the mirror he was using. Truth be told, he hadn’t been sure it would work. But he’d been getting tired of the not-talking-about-it. There was _no way_ this didn’t work two directions. Right?

Well, here was his answer.

Instead of answering each other, he and Will held their gaze for a long moment. Then Will spoke again, a rueful smile quirking up the side of his mouth.

“This explains… a lot.”

“I was sure you were going to figure out by the time you asked Izumi,” Selim said weakly.

“Okay, so how long have _you_ known?”

“Since the transmutation. Vaguely.”

“I – _jesus shit Selim you could have said something._ ”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t see you in the bath.”

Will blinked – then gasped in mock horror, pulling his knees up to his chest. “You bastard.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before!”

“I was _five._ I like to think I’ve grown considerably since thing. In _many_ ways,” he added archly.

Selim snorted, glancing away for a second, then returning his eyes to the mirror.

“You disappeared for a sec. What was that?”

“Oh, I’m – We don’t usually actually _see_ each other.”

Will nodded thoughtfully. “I think whenever I actually see something it’s…what you’re looking at, right? Assuming,” he added cynically, “that I’m not hallucinating this whole thing.”

“How likely is that?”

“I just spent most of today bitching at my dead mother, who bitched right back.”

“…Noted.” Selim managed not to laugh. Damn it. Will always managed to make the worst things sound absolutely hysterical. It was, _probably,_ terrible. “I’m using the mirror as a refraction lens. So you’re looking through my eyes, and seeing what I’m seeing, but I’m also seeing what _you’re_ seeing because you’re looking at a mirror through me-“

“That sounds hopelessly complicated.”

“What about this isn’t?”

Will sank into the water and burbled thoughtfully. _Fair point._

Selim suppressed another snicker. He figured talking out loud was a little easier – it made it a little less complicated – but he imagined Will hadn’t really _realized_ how much Selim could pick up. “So how much do…” His mouth went a little dry. He’d been practicing this part for years. On the off chance he wasn’t crazy. “When…”

“You’re asking me what this feels like from my end.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m… I’m not _sure._ People talk about empathy like it’s a normal thing. I just kind of thought that’s what it was.”

“ _Will._ That’s something you get with everybody! Or- uh-“ Now _Selim_ was doubting himself. Worst thing was, Will was snickering on the other end.

“See! Not so simple! Besides, you’re like one of the only people I give a shit about, so it made sense to me.”

He felt his cheeks getting a little hot at that. Will had said it so _casually,_ too.

“Anyway, I guess I… know how you’re feeling, most of the time? Fairly specifically, too.” Will fidgeted. “…This feels weird.”

“It does. I just… I thought it was just me. For years. And then…”

“Then what?”

Selim’s blush deepened. “Oh, uh, at the lab.” He meant the flirting, but there was plenty that Will could take from that. “I was starting to _wonder._ ”

“That’s sort of where I caught on, too. And I kept thinking about it, you know? Kept…” Will tugged at the grass on the side of the pool. “I shouldn’t _know_ when you’re hurt, or scared, or.” He smirked suddenly. “Horny.”

Oh god. He probably looked like a tomato. “Sh-shut up.”

“Hey, you _asked._ ”

“I – god, I did. Fine. Whatever.”

“It’s mostly when we’re close together. This bit is new.”

“ _Really?_ ” Selim couldn’t help the shock. “Shit, I’ll feel you throwing something at a wall all the way over here.”

“Damn. I guess it’s not the same for both of us?”

“I think it’s because you’re…” Selim fumbled over the words. “I get it the _most_ with strong emotion. You’re… uh…”

“Insane?”

“Passionate,” Selim offered instead, a little indignantly. “Your thoughts are _so loud._ ”

“That… tracks, actually.” Will was looking at him so curiously. “Even under that mask of yours you’re remarkably quiet. I _notice_ how you’re feeling, but it’s like a whisper compared to some of the screaming that happens in my head.”

Selim had to force himself not to look away. The connection would break. But… god. It felt like being stripped naked, having somebody else realize that about him. He usually sat with himself in the dark, wondering if there was something wrong with him for not feeling things the same way others seemed to. And Will’s emotions, the jagged edges of his thoughts, sometimes _hurt_ with how strong they were.

“You okay?” Will asked, even though he probably knew for a fact how Selim was feeling.

“Yeah. I think. Yeah, just…” Selim rubbed the pad of his thumb against the edge of his fingers. “I haven’t… decided how I actually _feel_ about this.”

“Kind of with you there. Not that this isn’t kind of nice.”

“Where _are_ you, anyway?”

Will snorted. “I’m at my teacher’s. Actually, I’m on an island in the middle of nowhere because my teacher was going to put me on here with Alex, realized Alex wasn’t here, and I told her I could do it anyway. Turns out being alone with my thoughts kind of sucks.”

“…You still haven’t heard from him?”

Will shook his head, smile fading. “I was hoping he might have shown up in Rizenbul.”

“Me too, but…”

“How the fuck did you – right, you spy on me.”

“It’s not _spying!”_

“Right. Strong emotion.” Then Will winced. “Which means that whole gun business was not nearly as much of a surprise as you played it off as.”

It took a moment for Selim to catch up, and then he remembered what Will was talking about. The spiral over the Red Stones, and the gun pointed at his face. That probably should have freaked him out more. A lot more. But… But he’d been able to feel the confusion, the hurt, the terror. It made perfect sense to him that Will was going to act out.

“Do you…” Will cleared his throat. “That means you know about the other times.”

“I don’t think I knew what they were at the time, but yeah, looking back, I figured it out.”

“Are you mad at me?”

Selim blinked in surprise. “What? Why would I be mad?”

The boy on the other side of the mirror suddenly looked so young, so surprised, so _scared,_ that Selim had a hard time reminding himself that Will was more than a year older. He didn’t say anything, but the fear billowed up behind him like a column of smoke. What the _hell_ had Alex said to him? Selim only had the outlines, the sketches in charcoal of something messy and hurtful.

Selim took a few steps backwards, sitting on the edge of the tub. “I don’t… I’ve never felt like I wanted to hurt _myself._ But I’m not you. And the way you feel makes sense. I mean I don’t – I don’t _recommend_ it. I’m actually pretty invested in you staying alive, thanks.”

A small smile quirked at the edge of Will’s lips, and he wrapped his arms around his legs. “I don’t… want to talk about this.”

“That’s okay.” It also meant Selim didn’t have to go into the physical side of things. He didn’t want to put that on Will, especially since Will clearly didn’t get it to the same degree. Although that made sense. How often did Selim get hurt making automail?

“I promise, for the record,” he said a little more brightly, “I don’t have _any_ more gun-waving psychosis planned. Your brain is safe.”

“Oh god, that sounds so bad out of context.”

Will chucked a rock at him. Which, predictably, just ended up clattering against a tree somewhere. “Yeah, because the context helps _so_ much. Sir, my bo- best friend and I are communicating through methods unknown and may or may not be astral projecting, and I couldn’t tell because I keep hallucinating my dead mother.”

“ _Please_ stop making it funny.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to laugh loudly enough to wake up my dad and neither of us want that.”

Will snorted. “He can’t see me, and unless you’ve got your dick out, all you have to say is that my crazy is contagious.”

Selim stuck out his tongue, trying to hide the way his body was reacting to that. Dear lord. He did _not_ want to admit to Will how much he’d seen. Felt. Whatever. _Or_ think too hard about the potential for abuse.

“You know I can feel you getting horny from here.”

“I’m- I’m gonna figure out how to kill you long-distance. Just for that comment,” Selim stammered.

The smile creeping across Will’s face was somewhat reminiscent of a fox in a henhouse. It didn’t help that Selim couldn’t keep his eyes off him – either practically or…at all. He looked _good._ Skinny, but that was normal; he didn’t eat enough, and even when he _did,_ he was too slender, too bony, wiry muscle wrapping around his limbs like rope pulled taut. But it had been a long time since Selim had seen him like _this._ Not just naked. Despite his joking, he didn’t seem in the slightest bit concerned that Selim could see him. He was _enjoying_ it – the way Selim’s eyes lingered on his wet purple hair sticking to the bolts of his automail, the scars at the port, the curve of his neck…

Did – did they talk about it? Did they actually spit it out? Or did they just pretend this was a conversation about something else entirely? And of course, because he was feeling nervous, Will was getting nervous, and how fucking typical was it that they were apparently this in tune with each other’s emotions and still couldn’t just admit they liked each other?

He tore his eyes from the mirror, breaking the connection with a rising sense of embarrassment. He’d spent so long worried about hiding whatever… _this_ was, dismissing his sexual proclivities with a laugh as Practically Irrelevant. And now he was realizing with just a touch of horror that fooling around with Rodrick and whoever else was one thing. His feelings for Will were a complete _other_ ballgame.

He stared down at the problem he now had on his hands, embarrassment mixing with sheer – well – _horniness,_ was Will’s word. He didn’t dare do anything about it because Will would-

..well.

Was that so bad? He’d gotten an accidental dose of it before. But that had been accidental. Doing it on _purpose_ seemed different. But Will wasn’t doing anything that required concentration right now, and it wasn’t like they’d be having _sex._ They weren’t even in the same room.

Most of the time, he sighed, he didn’t _know_ Will was paying attention.

_I think,_ came the sly whisper in his ear – and he was not used to actual _communication – that you might be overthinking this._

They still hadn’t talked about it. The _other_ elephant in the room. But Selim could feel Will’s desire in the back of his head, his encouragement –

“I hate you,” he mumbled, trying to sound like he meant it as he undid the top button of his trousers.

* * *

Sheska Thomas was hitting the limits of what her books could help her with. Mostly, all the grieving in her books had plenty of swooning, frantic tears, and wasting away. None of them said anything about ignoring everybody you loved and refusing to come in to work for days at a time.

“Jareth,” she sighed at the door, then hammered on it again. No response. She knew he was _there._ He just wasn’t _responding._

“I wouldn’t bother,” came the tired voice from behind her. “He hasn’t been responding to me either.”

Sheska’s hand stuttered mid-knock. She hadn’t been expecting – well, no, that wasn’t true. She _should_ have expected that the Colonel would be here. She hadn’t expected her to look so…

…was _awful_ a bad thing to say? Solaris didn’t look _bad._ She looked exhausted. Anybody would. But it was still a little _strange,_ seeing Colonel Solaris with bags under her eyes and no makeup. She also wasn’t in uniform, which meant it took an extra half-second for Sheska to recognize her.

“Oh, no, please don’t sa- never mind,” the Colonel sighed. “I’m not here officially. You’re his librarian girlfriend, right?”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Sheska replied stubbornly. Maybe a little too stubbornly. “I’m not taking him back _that_ easily.”

“And yet,” the Colonel raised her cup of coffee to the door, “here you are.”

Sheska didn’t have a good response to that other than a dark, embarrassed blush. She _liked_ Jareth. She wouldn’t be so upset about the whole thing if she didn’t like him – but she’d known it was too good to be true. Somebody like _him,_ paying attention to somebody like _her?_ No wonder she’d just accepted it when he disappeared. Now, though –

“Walk with me a bit.” The Colonel indicated the elevator.

“Is – is he going to be okay?”

The Colonel just shrugged. “I hope so. He… gets like this, sometimes. It’s a wonder he still has a job, but lucky for him I haven’t said a word.”

“You and the Lieutenant-Colonel were really close. All three of you.”

The Colonel – Diana, Sheska remembered was her first name – hesitated at the elevator doors. “…Yes,” she said finally. One word that said plenty.

Sheska rubbed her arms as she followed the Colonel into the elevator. She was even scarier up close. Jareth was _tall,_ sure, but he slouched so much and usually had that sweet but devilish grin on his face. He was intimidating, sure, but in a different kind of way. Even out of uniform, the Colonel’s back was ramrod-straight – she leaned _into_ her height, whereas Jareth seemed happy for everybody else to forget he was almost a foot taller than some of the people around him.

“I don’t believe any of those people,” she said, finally. It sounded stupid as she said it, especially when Solaris turned her gaze on her. “The – the ones who –“

“The ones claiming I shot Maes?”

“Yeah,” Sheska confirmed weakly. Damn it. She was trying to sound supportive, and it had just come out all _weird._

Solaris’s face bloomed into a soft, wry smile. “Appreciated.”

“…Sir – ma’am – Colonel – what do you want with _me?_ ”

“No wonder he likes you. You’re so earnest, it’s sweet. Not a drop of guile in you at all.”

“Once, I tried to lie about my age to get a discount on books,” Sheska admitted. “I got so nervous I nearly started crying.”

“…How on earth did Maes convince you to join up?”

“He didn’t. All librarians are privates by default. Although he did make me learn how to salute properly.”

Solaris laughed, a quiet thing that Sheska could have interpreted as mocking, but seemed… bewildered more than anything else. She really didn’t seem quite… _alright,_ today. Not that Sheska knew her well enough to know.

Once they were outside, Solaris took Sheska’s hand, pressing something into it. “I’ve lost too many people lately,” she murmured. “Make sure I don’t lose another.”

Sheska closed her fingers around the key, heartbeat speeding up. “I don’t – is this a good idea? Shouldn’t…” Her mouth went dry, and she stopped. She’d always _assumed_ the Colonel was one of Jareth’s other lovers, but maybe that was just her inadequacy speaking.

“Why aren’t I doing it?”

She nodded.

Solaris tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I have… work to do. Life doesn’t stop just because our best friend died.”

That didn’t seem fair. And Sheska wasn’t good with people, usually assumed whatever conclusions she drew were false, but she had a pretty good idea that Solaris was lying to her. Plus, something seemed wrong with the way she was drinking her takeout coffee – the little grimace afterwards, and a glassiness to her eyes that didn’t seem normal.

Still, she was worried about Jareth too. And if she managed to drag Jareth out of whatever pit he was in, Jareth would be able to help the Colonel. She had to believe that.

* * *

_Where was she?_

She had –

_“There he is,” Ranfan had said, pointing at the man they’d been following, keeping in stride with his qi along the flat rooftops of Central City._

What had happened after that?

_“Sorry, Ranfan.”_

_She’d handcuffed Ranfan to a balcony banister before disappearing down to face the shapeshifter._

Why?

_I could do it myself. Easier._

_Easier not to share._

She’d broken their promise. She meant to take care of Ranfan, of course. She loved her. But not enough –

-or too much? She’d known, somewhere, that he was dangerous. Assumed he was the dangerous one.

He hadn’t been the one to hurt her.

“You’re awake. Stop pretending you aren’t.”

Zhu Yingtai opened her eyes. It had been easier not to. Everything hurt. Everything _stung._

The creature that she’d heard the shapeshifter call Riza Hawkeye sat on a chair across from her. It was remarkably beautiful – a wing chair upholstered in gilt and brocade that was only starting to show its age in the threads unweaving from the sides and the dust gathering on its dark-wood feet and arms. The whole room was like that, she realized as she looked around. Her bare feet were dangling tiptoe on a carpet so lushly woven out of silk and glitter that she could imagine people dancing on it, and the walls were painted in gold and emerald fresco, flaking at the edges and missing pieces. Her hands were tied to a ceiling chandelier wrought of bronze.

“Avoiding the obvious, aren’t you?” Riza said quietly.

She was. Deliberately. It kept her calm.

She was strung up on the lamp, hands above her. Naked. Helpless.

And Riza – plain, ordinary, in comparison to the finery all around them – was holding a knife. Twirling it, actually, so idly that it might as well have been a pen.

“Zhu Yingtai, Juliet Douglas. Which one’s real? Zhu, I assume.”

“Yes,” she responded, her lips numb. Ranfan. She’d handcuffed Ranfan, left her there- she’d be able to break out eventually, she should just go home, go home and find some other way to impress the clans –

“Stop worrying about other people,” Riza commanded.

Juliet shut up. Juliet. She had to hold onto that name. She was going to be tortured. That much was clear. But if she was Juliet, and not Yingtai –

_She can’t get to anybody else through Juliet._ Juliet Juliet Juliet, who was – nineteen, yes, but not a princess, not anybody at all, just somebody with an oversized ego and an inflated sense of importance – Juliet had been the actual firstborn, and not a pretender. Juliet had been born into real money, instead of empty coffers and a noble lineage. Juliet Douglas, who thought Xing was just a fairytale the same way that Yingtai wasn’t really sure that Amestris was a real place-

“Can you read my mind?” she asked. She tried to sound stable, in control, but a little shake entered her voice right at the end.

Riza smiled a little at that – an almost soft expression. “No, nothing like that. Just your body.” She wasn’t wearing her glasses, and Yi – _Juliet –_ could see the terrible designs in her eyes now. “Your heart, your stomach, your muscles… They tell me everything I need to know.”

“Like what?” She couldn’t help it. Yingtai took control, but she had to do better. _Juliet Juliet Juliet._ Yingtai was dead, Yingtai was gone, Yingtai was – somewhere else –

_They trained you on this. Remember? They trained you on how to protect Bao._

“What’s got you tensing up like that?” Riza asked.

“What?”

“The muscles in your neck.”

Her mouth went dry. “How can you do that? See inside me?”

“I wouldn’t answer that, but…” Riza flipped the knife, grabbing it by the blade. A trickle of blood ran down her arm. “I haven’t been allowed much conversation lately. And this only ends one of two ways.”

“Two? That’s better than I expected.”

Riza smiled thinly. “Either you swallow poison and become one of us, or you die. I think you want the first. Right? You were asking after the Stone.”

Yingtai re-emerged, despite herself. She nodded.

Riza stood up slowly. She really was such an _ordinary-_ looking woman. Still, quiet, with the kind of determined strength to her shoulders that you got from being a right hand. “How badly do you want it?” she asked. It sounded almost sad.

This was a trick question. “I – I want it, but not – I won’t die for it.”

A strange light danced in Riza’s eyes, and she closed her eyes. “An interesting thing about me –I don’t talk to strangers often. I don’t talk to _anybody_ often. I have a hard time with people. So when I find something important to me… I protect it. Sometimes I need reminding.”

She couldn’t figure out the relevance.

“The people I love are few and far between. Understand, Zhu?”

And then suddenly, she did.

“If you don’t want to die for something,” Riza said, still in that even, apologetic tone as she raised the knife, “don’t be prepared to kill for it either.”

When the knife carved into her shoulder, it was both of them – Yingtai and Juliet – who screamed.


	18. Nothing in My Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: misogyny/sexism, very slight ableism re: developmental disabilities (shows up more later), violence, attempted rape from rapist POV, mental instability/dissociation/identity issues city, alcoholism,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WEEHEEHEE Finally the last set of character introductions is dooooooooone. And (oh god) 68 chapters later, we have our full set of homunculi swaps!
> 
> The full list:
> 
> Will – Envy  
> Alex – Wrath 03  
> Diana – Lust  
> Jareth - Greed  
> King Bradley – Pride 03/Wrath BH  
> Selim – Pride BH  
> Zhu Yingtai/Juliet Douglas – Sloth 03  
> Zhu Huan – Sloth BH  
> Zhu Bao – Gluttony
> 
> And while we haven’t confirmed everybody’s actual sins so far – Riza, Roy, Ling, Ed, Al, Winry and Scar are the homunculi. C:
> 
> Song is by Keane, and this is one of those ones where picking specific lyrics was HARD. (Also, I adore Keane anyway.) But definitely, if you don’t listen, at least look up the full lyrics because oooooowwwwwwwwch.

~18~

_A tell-tale sign  
You don't know where to draw the line  
And why'd you say  
It's just another day, nothing in my way  
I don't wanna go, I don't wanna stay  
So there's nothing left to say_

_-Nothing In My Way_

Zhu Huan was tired. Of course, he was always tired. Even before this doomed quest, he’d been well into the part of late middle age that involved falling asleep at the most inconvenient times, including whenever he sat down anywhere soft – which was why when his niece had come up to him and sweetly asked to take her training as a guard of the family to the next step, he hadn’t said no. Actually, he’d been rather excited.

Finding Yao Ranfan handcuffed to a railing and crying was about the final nail in the coffin for that excitement.

He sighed, kneeling down next to her and examining the handcuffs. Yingtai had probably stolen them from some hapless soldier. They were everywhere in this country. They didn’t have police or guards, they had soldiers. They didn’t have bureaucrats, they had soldiers. If there was a non-military government somewhere under all of this war machinery, he couldn’t see it.

“She’s gone, she – I’m going to kill her myself – Shifu, please, I tried, she –“

“Hush,” he ordered. She did, and he waved Bao over, who’d been standing respectfully back. Bao offered up his thin knife, but Huan stepped back, making it clear that Bao was going to do it. At least this time the boy didn’t complain. He just knelt over Ranfan, working at the lock until it gave.

“Tell me what happened,” Huan said, not unkindly. Then – so that she wouldn’t try hide her secrets from him – he reached forward and took off her mask. His was painted similarly, just with bigger teeth and lines of gold alongside the red to show his experience.

Ranfan exhaled, the tears still running tracks down her cheeks. “Forgive me, Shifu-“

“None of that. Just the facts.”

“We found… someone who – their qi was all wrong. Too many people. Too much energy, all in the wrong places. We followed them, because something like that – that has to be the Stone, right?” She wanted validation, but Huan just indicated for her to continue. “And then when we caught up to them, she – grabbed me and handcuffed me to the railing. Said that she could do it alone.”

Bao let out a groan of frustration, and Huan shot a glare at him. He quailed under the stare. “Sorry.” Huan supposed he was allowed. Bao usually ended up getting in trouble for what his little sister pulled.

“Is she dead?”

Ranfan gulped. “I don’t… know. There were two of them. I didn’t realize at first because they were standing next to each other, and we’d only been following one of them, but the older one attacked her. Hurt her. And I think – no, I _know –_ she was still alive when she took her away.”

Huan sat back on his haunches. He’d suspected, when Yingtai had vanished at the border, that she had her own plans for how their journey was going to go. And he hadn’t minded, in theory, how close she and the Yao guardswoman were. But –

“What were your and Yingtai’s intentions for the Stone?”

Ranfan went pale at that, avoiding his gaze. Bao released the handcuffs and sat down, playing with the chain, but glanced up at Huan.

“She wanted to be heir instead of me,” Bao said plainly. There wasn’t any malice in it. That grated even more than the confirmation. It meant Bao didn’t _care._

Ranfan’s guilty look just backed up what Bao had said. “I shouldn’t have been helping her-“

“What did she promise _you?_ Rule by her side?”

Ranfan shook her head. She thought Huan didn’t know – that she adored Yingtai, yes, but also how much it grated on her, being reduced constantly to one of ‘those Yaos’. Greedy, underhanded, full of lust for power, still cursed by the selfish choices of a prince centuries beforehand. Ranfan hadn’t asked to be a Yao. Yingtai hadn’t asked to be born second. Of course they’d strived against the hands of destiny – and of course destiny had struck back.

“…Usually,” came the surprised voice from behind them, “when there’s a report of a shooting, I _don’t_ find you still here the next day.”

Huan turned around, nudging Bao to do the same, and found his heart sinking as he faced a group of blue uniforms. At the front was a man with a shock of dandelion-yellow hair, staring at them with some puzzlement. Then –

“It’s you!” Ranfan burst in front of Huan, seemingly ignoring the guns at the side of the men in front of them. She fumbled with her Amestrian – “Um – Chaos man!”

“Chaos m-?” Then the man started laughing. “ _Havoc._ ”

“Same thing,” Ranfan mumbled in Xingese, then switched back. “Help? You can help?”

“Somebody got shot last night.”

“Yes! My friend, my…” Ranfan stared helplessly up at Huan, who shook his head. His Amestrian was good enough to follow, but even if he’d been any better at it than her, he wasn’t helping her dig the hole any deeper. It was part of why Yingtai vanishing had been so frustrating. She’d taken to the language like a fish to water, while the rest of them struggled.

“Hold, hold on. Same girl who was in the holding cells?” Then Havoc squinted at Ranfan. “Did you break her out?”

Ranfan turned a very distinct shade of pink.

“…This is way above my paygrade,” he mumbled. “Somebody radio the Colonel? I haven’t the foggiest clue what’s happening anymore.”

Ranfan looked _pleased_ at that. “Colonel… Jareth?”

“God, no. But if Jareth likes you, the Colonel will. Usually.”

Ranfan frowned a little at that, then seemed to accept it. On his other side, Bao was glancing up at him in confusion. “Not now,” he murmured quietly. Bao didn’t understand a word of Amestrian. He hadn’t even been able to learn the alphabet without frustrating himself into a migraine.

That was the problem, really. If he could have switched their ages himself, he would have. Bao was a wonderful boy – man, really – who cried when the flowers he picked died in their vases, would accept that the world was flat if you told him sincerely enough, and worshipped the ground his sister walked on. And Yingtai was a fierce, iron-willed beast of a girl who had chained her best friend to a railing rather than risk her getting hurt. And yet, Bao was the heir, and not a force on earth could change that.

Not a force on earth, except, perhaps, the Philosopher’s Stone.

Huan decided he was with Ranfan on this one. If she was still alive, he was going to kill Yingtai himself. 

* * *

Yao Ling hadn’t thought about his past in a long time, but for whatever reason, his time with Jareth paired with the short conversation with Pride he’d had last night was bringing a lot of it to mind. He didn’t miss Xing. Of course not. It’d been a petty place, obsessed with honor above reason, keeping up the appearance of purity and humility while quietly dismissing anybody who stepped out of line. Of course he’d wanted more.

_Zhu Yingtai._

He remembered the Zhus. One of the rich bitch clans, really. Although from the description Pride had passed along to him, they’d fallen somewhat from grace. If their heir was a stripling teenager with not much more than a jian sword to her name, then things really were bad. They deserved it, though. He still remembered the airhead he’d been betrothed to. If the information Dante had brought back from her travels were correct, they’d turned around and married her off to the Sage, which was irony so rich he might choke on it.

He glanced over at Jareth, who was trying to bring some order to his kitchen. The poor man hadn’t figured out why it was so hard for him to get back on top of things, to remember to go to work, to remember _anything._ Every time he so much looked at Lust, he got distracted again. And when he wasn’t thinking about sex, he was beating himself up for not being able to get out of it, or feeling the grief of his dead friend all over again.

The question was, thought Lust with a frown, was why he hadn’t done any research. He was clearly an alchemist, even if he hid it well. He’d seen the designs on his back, and Lust didn’t care for the art himself, but he knew that nobody would get themselves tattooed with alchemic information if they weren’t involved with it. But in all of his grieving, all of his drunken insanity, his thoughts hadn’t wandered once to revival.

Mustang hadn’t asked about that, of course. _Mustang_ didn’t need to know that there was another sacrifice potential. As far as Lust was concerned, Mustang could take a long walk off a short bridge and nobody would grieve, except perhaps the poor little puppy he’d made out of Wrath.

Still, it was frustrating. And when Lust got frustrated, he wanted to do more than he could get away with. He needed to get it out of his system.

“I’m going to bed,” Jareth growled, looking ready to break something. He’d tried to get the beer cans away, and then ended up stomping on them, throwing them into a corner so he didn’t have to see them. Nobody liked being reminded of just _how_ much they’d been leaning on alcohol to cope. Or how long they’d been doing it.

“Sleep well,” Lust said lightly. “I’ll join you in a bit.”

He slid off of the couch, wondering if he could get away with going out for long enough to find… somebody. Something. Maybe _several_ somebodies. People who didn’t matter, at least to the Plan. He’d thought having somebody dedicated to him – somebody he was slowly, surely enslaving – would be enough, but he should have learned by now. It was never enough.

A key clicked in the door, and Lust glanced upwards, tensing up immediately. He turned all the focus, all the attention, _away_ from himself. If somebody looked directly at him, they’d see him… but their eyes wouldn’t want to. He’d be like part of the furniture.

A small woman crept into the apartment. She looked nervous, like she wasn’t supposed to be there, and she _wasn’t._ Lust had seen her through the keyhole a few times. Mousy, brown thatch of hair, glasses that made her look even smaller and dumpier than she was, and – _ahh._ He’d missed this detail. She had a little pendant on, and he had a funny feeling that Jareth – poor, lonely, angry Jareth – hadn’t seen it, or realized that there was a _reason_ she had her own little lucky die around her neck. Whether or not she’d actually swiped it from him was besides the point.

“Um… Are you asleep?” she whispered, so quietly that even Jareth _had_ been awake, he probably wouldn’t have heard it. “I just… Sorry! Sorry, I’m… I’m worried.”

_If you’re worried now,_ Lust thought with a growing smile, _wait until I give him somebody else to grieve._ If the death of Maes Hughes alone wasn’t pushing him to desperation enough – maybe the loss of his sweet little bitch would do it.

He came up behind her, footfalls silent, and with the door still open behind him, wrapped an arm around her waist and stuck his hand over her mouth. “Don’t scream, sweetheart. You’ll cause trouble.”

Her startled squeal against his hand was plenty to get him going. _This_ was what he’d needed – a struggle, a fight. He dragged her out of the apartment, away from Jareth, and slammed her against the wall of the hallway. Nobody else would react, or do anything. He knew human nature well enough for that. Besides –

“If you stay quiet,” he murmured against her ear, watching her little throat gulp with desperation, “I won’t kill him.”

Her chest heaved at that, and he slid his hands up her sides. This was fun. This was _fun._ The way she was leaning into his touch without realizing it, the way fear for the man she loved was keeping her silent –

“-JARETH!”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ he had _misjudged her-_ and in that moment of shock, Sheska drove her elbow back into his solar plexus. He staggered backwards, caught off guard, and she turned around, fists up in an unwieldy but determined fighting pose.

“I’m a woman in the military, you idiot! You think I don’t know how to fend off a _rapist?_ ”

There was every chance he wouldn’t hear her. And the bloodlust was in him now, fury mixing with sexual desire. (bitch bitch bitch) He had _everything._ She had _nothing._

“Shut up,” he hissed, slamming his hand back over her mouth – then shoving his fingers _into_ his mouth, “you filthy stupid-“

A sound broke the air. His vision went red, then black, then white. Then he was staring at the baseboards of the wall, and his head hurt –

_-what do you want more than anything else in the world, Ling? If you could have one wish?-_

-his head hurt because Sheska was screaming, and there was another voice –

_-the person who made me immortal lives in the city of Riviere, across the desert, a million miles away. If you want to keep the life you have now – the things you cherish – I suggest you stay away from her –_

_-her?-_

“Sorry. I’m sorry – shit – you’re a mess. C’mere. He can’t hurt you now.”

Gunshot to the head. It was taking him a few moments to die properly. These bodies were like that sometimes. But then he saw the light, at the corner of his eyes, and more importantly – he heard their feet against the ground, moving backwards, away from him. Horrified, probably. Terrified.

_-tell me, Ling, and I’ll give it to you. Because I think I already know.-_

His cover was blown, he realized, as he straightened up. And everything still looked… wrong. Off. The colours weren’t staying in the lines. But he could see the grim certainty in Jareth’s face.

WE SHOULD KILL HIM, whispered the voice he hadn’t heard on its own for a very long time. They were one being, most of the time. One and the same. But –

_I don’t want to,_ Ling whispered, and for half a second, he was a scared, stupid kid again. Jareth didn’t look anything like Pride. But he –

“You’re a fucking mess.” The man stood in front of the jail cell, smirking.

Ling just raised an eyebrow. He’d picked up more Amestrian than he was going to let on, but that didn’t mean he understood _this_ man.

“So,” he said, “what brought you here? The last time I saw refugees from Xing was, shit, seventy years ago?”

The country wasn’t even that old, but that wasn’t what Ling reacted to. There was no way the casual, slouching teenager in front of him was that old. Except –

Except he looked an awful lot like the Sage.

“You could try kill me if you want,” Pride said, and he hadn’t known his name was Pride yet, “but it won’t work. So, what are you after?”

_You. What you are. Who you are. I want that._

The past and present kept blending. Pride had warned him about this, he remembered. Healing wasn’t a perfect process. Him, Wrath, Pride – they hadn’t been perfected yet.

Jareth was pointing a gun at him again, herding Sheska behind him. Jareth didn’t look anything like Pride. Like Edward. “Who sent you?”

So simple. All their focus on him. So he just switched it off. Watched them blink, look around, try to find him in the hallway, figure out where he’d disappeared to, when he was still standing right there.

He could leave now. Leave, regroup, mark this one a _failure._

“Ling-“

He’d given Jareth his real name. He’d forgotten he’d done that. Ling quailed away, suddenly horrified, _I was going to hurt her, how many people have gotten hurt, where am I –_ and Lust dove forward, burying the tips of his fingers into Jareth’s stomach. They rammed through flesh and tendon, stopping just short of his organs.

“That’s not my name,” he whispered, yanking his blood-covered hand free and watching the man who looked nothing like Pride stumble to his knees. And then – _only then –_ he left.

* * *

Diana was out of alcohol again. She hadn’t realized it until she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and realized that her decanter of whiskey – which she’d refilled a day or two ago – was empty again.

That was probably fine. She could afford it. What she _couldn’t_ afford was the hangover that was going to set in before she could actually make time to go get some. She could go out now, perhaps –

A knock sounded at the door. She bit her lip to stop herself from screaming a curse at them. “ _What?”_ She cleared her throat. “What is it?”

“Havoc called. Said something about Xingese foreign nationals? Said it was relevant to you.”

…The little bitch. When Diana had seen the empty cell, she’d known it wasn’t the last she’d see of her. “Where are they?”

“Corner of Parkway and Arnstein. On the roof, apparently?”

Parkway and Arnstein. That wasn’t far. Maybe she could buy some on the way-

No. That was stupid. Then she’d have a bottle of whiskey on her while doing things. She’d do it on the way back.

_Or you could not do it at all,_ came the whisper that kept, irritatingly, popping up. She’d told it, a number of times, that unless it had any better suggestions it could get fucked. The alcohol was keeping her functional. Unlike her idiot Lieutenant who had apparently decided to ignore the world. (And her. Not that that mattered.)

She stumbled, just a little, while leaving her office. Nobody noticed. Nobody had noticed. She was fine-

Silently, Breda and Falman put their coats on and followed her. She hadn’t asked them. She was sure they had other work to do. But she didn’t tell them not to, either, and kept the sting of humiliation to herself.


	19. Leave Out All The Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: past/referenced dissociation & dysphoria, unresolved Guilt Feelings, suicide & ableism/sanism referenced, predatory/CSA Vibes:tm:, torture aftermath, disfigurement/body horror, eye & mouth trauma (not dwelled on), emotional abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, god, ouch, another one where the full lyrics are not just relevant to the chapter, but to the whole story. The song is by Linkin Park, which I’m sure most of you know.

~19~

_I dreamed I was missing  
You were so scared  
But no one would listen  
Cause no one else cared  
After my dreaming  
I woke with this fear  
What am I leaving  
When I'm done here?_

**_-Leave Out All The Rest_ **

There was something wrong with him. Alex ran his fingers over the spines of the books on the shelves, trying to enjoy that he _could,_ now. Everything felt so much crisper, so much clearer. He could breathe, and feel himself breathing.

And he wasn’t happy.

He was happy with having a _body._ He still got waves of euphoria every time he looked in the mirror – but that wasn’t the only thing he was feeling.

He rubbed his fingers over the gilt letters, slightly raised from the leather of the book bindings. It had never really _occurred_ to him how much emotional and mental processes had to do with the body. It made sense, really. And seeing Izumi had snapped it in place…

…and been _exactly_ what made him so miserable.

Alex thunked his head against the spines. Then again, for good measure. All is one and one is all, which meant the whole time he’d been without his body, his mind hadn’t been quite _here._ Staring at the wall during the nights should have driven him crazy with boredom, and it _had,_ but not _enough._ And he’d gotten mad at Will a few times, but it hadn’t been until that last blowup when any of it had really, finally surfaced. It’d taken _that long_ to say anything.

And, he was realizing, he’d done it in the worst way possible.

He thunked his head against the books _again._

“Honey, if you think that’s how studying works, you need some help.”

“I was going to go with how he shouldn’t break his new body, but that works too.”

Alex groaned, slouching against the library shelves and not even bothering to turn around. “Hi, guys.” He wasn’t used to having… Were they friends yet? That was how bad he was at the whole concept. “Don’t mind me. I’m just… having minor existential failure.”

“You can’t scare us off with nerd language! We’re _all_ nerds!” Lyra grasped Alex’s shoulders and turned him around.

Fletcher snickered. “You calling yourself a nerd willingly is new.”

“Oh, shut up, midget. We were learning about the second law of thermodynamics today, I’m allowed to feel like a nerd.”

“Did _you_ understand it?” Alex asked weakly. “Because I’ve been doing alchemy longer than either of you and I didn’t.”

“That’s a hell of a claim. How long have _you_ been an alchemist? Because last I checked you were fourteen.”

“I picked up an alchemy textbook when I was three.”

Lyra opened her mouth, then closed it. Fletcher just looked impressed. “… Fine. _Fine._ That wins. Also, I kind of hate you.”

Alex snorted, then smiled with relief. He _was_ feeling better.

Which.

Which just reminded him why he’d been feeling bad in the first place.

Fuck.

“Oh-kay,” Lyra declared, flopping down on the library’s carpeted floor and dragging Alex down with her. “Fess up. What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Nothing’s –“

“I should point out we can see your face now,” Fletcher mentioned with a small smirk.

Right. Crud. “Is it that obvious?”

“Just a little.” Fletcher paused for a moment. “Also, you were slamming your head against the books.”

Lyra’s snort of laughter just sealed his fate. He rolled his eyes, internally wondering if it was _worth_ trying to talk about it. “I’m not… I don’t know. I’m not used to people my own age.”

“If it helps, me neither,” Lyra shrugged. “I spent most of my childhood impressing my father’s friends or chasing off all my nannies.”

Fletcher hesitated, then sat down across from the two of them, fiddling with the book he was holding. It was on thermodynamics, the topic they’d been talking about today – extra research, or catch-up. Basic stuff when it came to alchemy… at least at first. Exchange of matter was the basis of how alchemy worked. Once you got into energy instead of matter, though… “Where _did_ you come from? Before this?” he asked.

Alex hoped neither of them saw him stiffen. He didn’t want to answer that.

“You just – you said you knew something about my brother. And you know Lyra from somewhere, don’t you?”

“You _do?_ ”

“I –“

“But you keep avoiding the question. It can’t be _that_ bad.”

It wasn’t, really. Will wasn’t some cackling villain. He was just… well, Will. He was a lot. Alex wasn’t sure why, exactly, he was so ashamed of talking about who he really was. He loved Will – he just didn’t want to be judged _by_ him anymore.

_He loved Will._

He’d… he’d almost forgotten. And then he’d just thought it, so casually, and –

“Hey, if it’s too hard, you don’t have to-“ Fletcher said, half-panicking –

“No, no – sorry, it’s… complicated.” Alex pulled a face. “I sort of – Leaving was messy. I still don’t know how I feel about it.”

“Your dad?”

Alex almost laughed at that, and had to stop himself. “God, no. My brother.”

Lyra and Fletcher looked at each other, then back at Alex. He quailed, and decided to just bite the bullet, squeezing his eyes shut. “So, uh, yeah, my brother is the douchebag alchemist with the green hair and the automail-?”

A burst of screeching laughter broke through Alex’s dread and he opened one eye. It wasn’t Lyra laughing – it was _Fletcher._ He had fallen over on his back laughing so hysterically that he was clutching his stomach, and Lyra was holding her hands over her mouth and nose, face gone pale.

“No, god. No, no, no, _him? HIM?”_

“…So, uh, Fletcher knows that bit?”

“YOU WERE THERE?” Lyra squeaked in horror.

“For him kissing you and then looking like he’d swallowed a lemon? Yes. Sorry about that.”

“I’m going to kill myself,” Lyra murmured, burying her whole face in her hands.

Fletcher was trying to pull himself together, wiping his eyes. “I can’t believe this. You’re _his brother?_ And here Lyra wants to-“

“Shut. It.” Lyra whimpered into her hands. “I will wring your tiny neck.”

“Oh, please don’t hurt him,” Alex said, suppressing giggles he hadn’t expected. “It’s my fault. I thought it was a good idea.”

“You _did?_ ”

“I should have known better. He is rather charmless, isn’t he?”

“I’ll say,” Lyra groaned. “My god. I don’t think I’ve ever hit a man harder, and I’ve had drunken boors grab my ass.”

Fletcher cleared his throat, carefully settling back to normal. Alex wasn’t foolish enough to think he hadn’t put a couple of the other pieces together, but it remained as an elephant in the room for now. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“You should be! I trusted you with that in confidence!”

“He was _there,_ ” Fletcher defended himself lamely.

“I was,” Alex admitted. “So, fair’s fair.”

Lyra’s blush subsided just as a little as she processed the new information in context. “I can see why you were sitting on that one. He’s a little, uh… polarizing, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Alex groaned sulkily.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Fletcher offered – and that was where Alex came back to a grinding halt. Because it was tempting – but then he came right back to what was plaguing him in the first place.

Will hadn’t been _trying_ to hurt him.

Maybe he had. He didn’t know. Envy had planted the idea in his head – or had he only given him the base to build off of? – that if Will had been anybody else, the violence, the aggression, the temper, would all have hit differently. That taking care of somebody for years with no thanks in return was cruelty in and of itself. But there was that, and then there was trying to articulate that to somebody else, and the second was – there was a reason, there had always _been_ a reason, they didn’t talk about it. Because the military had already threatened to lock up Will once, after the Tucker thing. Because, because, because –

“No,” he said, finally. The easiest answer. “He’s not a _bad_ person. We just don’t… get along.” Five words to try encapsulate his relationship with Will. It didn’t work. But it was the closest he was going to get. “Now are you going to keep cradling that book on thermodynamics or are we gonna figure this out?”

“Oh, I’m _so_ glad you asked,” Fletcher sighed.

“Where’s Mei, anyway?”

Lyra’s face soured. “Getting _special tutoring_ or something,” she grumbled. “Stupid little princess.”

Alex decided to let that one slide. Lyra’s feelings about Mei obviously had a lot less to do with Mei and a lot more to do with her own issues, and as long as she kept it to the occasional light barb and sulking, it didn’t seem worth bothering with.

\---

Mei Chang sat on the edge of the bed, eyes glazed over, as Dante slid her robes off of her shoulders. “Hm. What do you think, Envy?”

Envy didn’t really have an opinion, nor was he expected to have one. Dante just liked to have something to talk at that wasn’t her drugged student.

“A little underdeveloped for fourteen. But we can speed that up. And that _hair._ ”

He’d expected her to take the taller one. But the moment Mei had given away that she was a princess –

A sour feeling turned in Envy’s stomach. He hated this. He couldn’t even express how much he hated it. “Hush, hush,” he whispered to the panda in his arms. “It’s okay.” Xiao Mei was a smart thing. She knew something was wrong.

“Are you going to do it now?” he asked, trying not to sound as hesitant as he felt.

“Hm. Not yet. I’m still a little tired from creating the new mannequin. Although-“

The sharp ringing of a phone cut through the room’s still air. Dante pulled Mei’s robes back onto her, and pushed her back onto the bed, letting her sleep off the drugged smoke she’d breathed in. She didn’t have much of that available; it was one of those awful substances that worked to a lesser degree on _his_ kind, as well, so he found himself thankful every time she had reason to use it on somebody else. As cruel as it was.

“What is it?” she demanded. Then a smile spread over her face. “Well, well. Isn’t _that_ interesting. Thank you very much, Wrath. You may dispose of her whenever you want.”

“What is it?” Envy asked when Dante had hung up.

“Oh, quiet. You know I hate nosy servants,” she snapped. But her excitement drove her to continue anyway. “Apparently this little thing has been nervous around you for good reason. _Qi_ sensing. One of her countrymen gave the game away.”

Envy felt a shiver run down his spine – accompanied by a sense of profound sadness. So that’s what it was. He hadn’t done anything wrong. She could just see the wrongness in him. The emptiness.

“She can see souls,” Dante murmured. “I will _definitely_ have to wait, then. Let her show me how that little trick is done, if she can. And then…” She ran a finger down the curve of Mei’s sleeping chin, then along her throat and the pulse of her jugular. “One last time.”

Envy wasn’t supposed to hear the tinge of desperation in her voice. But he’d known her too long.

\----

Once upon a time, Edward thought, he’d believed they were doing the right thing. Or some approximation of it. They weren’t doing the _wrong_ thing, at least. There were so many crueler things in the world than them. Fathers abandoned their children. Husbands murdered their wives. Terrible things happened in the dark, behind closed doors and behind closed eyes.

It’d been a long time since he’d really believed that. But opening the door of the room that had been so beautiful to the smell of blood and terror –

It wouldn’t have been so terrible, he reflected, if he didn’t remember this. If he had been shocked, or even dully surprised, instead of – _of course._ He’d opened a door to the macabre remnants of Wrath’s dreadful fury before. The difference was, before, he’d been able to rest easy knowing that her victims had deserved it.

What were they now, he wondered, when foe and bystander had become one and the same? Sometimes he felt like he was going mad for believing that innocence still existed. Maybe he was going senile. That was it.

The light flickered on, slowly, the bulbs still functioning despite the tension that had weighed up on the ceiling lamp. Most of the room was intact. It was just… bloody. There’d been no fight, no push-and-pull. Just Wrath, and…

There she was. Wrath had taken her down from the lamp, and she had crawled away from the door, curled up against the wall and below the fresco.

He closed the door behind him. Let whoever else was here think he was finishing the job. Maybe he would. “Hey. Can you hear me?”

She didn’t respond, but there could be any number of reasons. He could hear ragged breathing, so she was alive, but who knew if she’d stay that way? So he approached, carefully, slowly, and stopped a few feet away.

“…I’m sorry,” he said. He sat down, wincing at the feeling of the blood in the carpet. “I didn’t – want this.” No, that sounded hollow even to him. And even as he thought about it, a lump rose up in his throat, and he could feel his tattoos swirling up in response. “I, uh –“

She shifted, dark-chestnut hair falling over her wrecked face, and fuck, _fuck, fuck._ He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t do this. This felt like – this was –

_Don’t do this. Don’t run off on her. You failed Alfons. You don’t get to be scared now. Do better._

Ha. Better. Like that had any meaning when you didn’t know which way was up.

Ed got up to grab what he’d brought in with him, not sure if he’d even need it. He’d half expected to come in to a corpse. A bucket of water, a cloth. Simple. Then he sat by the wall, carefully easing up her head –

A set of teeth dug into his hand.

“ _Ow!_ ” he hissed. “Jesus fuckin’ – lady, I am trying to _help you._ Please – _please, please_ let me.”

Her eyes – eye – fixed on him.

“Please,” he said again, more quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Juliet stayed silent, but then nodded, wincing as she did. Ed placed her head on his lap, heart skipping a beat. For half a moment, she looked a lot like Al.

“Let’s get you cleaned up. Figure out how bad this is.” He started carefully washing the blood off her face and shoulders, then realized her clothes were _over_ her, not on her, and looked away with a faint blush. Her body shook, and he glanced down at her face – “Are you laughing at me?”

She didn’t respond to that either, and he wasn’t sure she could, but that had _seemed_ like a yes.

“Well, I guess I can’t be squeamish if I’m playing medic,” he joked, because it did seem to bring a slight bit of light back to her eyes. Nothing big, but after what Wrath had put her through…

Well, _anything_ was a victory.

“She’s not… Riza isn’t usually –“ He stopped himself there. He’d been deliberately calling her Wrath to himself. “This isn’t-“ Normal? Define normal.

Juliet kept watching him. How much she was actually taking in, he didn’t know. Maybe he was just projecting onto somebody who could, for all intents and purposes, barely hear him anymore.

He tried again. “She shouldn’t have hurt you. You weren’t – I mean, you were doing _something._ You stabbed me. And I’m not saying I _enjoy_ being stabbed. That was kind of rude. But you’re a kid.” He laughed suddenly. “I know, I know. I look younger than you.”

Juliet raised an eyebrow. That really was a response this time.

“You were following me around, right? So you know I’ve got lots of faces. This one is the real deal, though. I’ve been, uh… sixteen? Sixteen, yeah. For a couple centuries, now.” He made a wiggly gesture with his head. “Not all it’s cracked up to be.”

She was fading out again. He could see it in her eyes – heartbeat fluttering slightly, but not giving out, and pupils dilating.

“I think I’m supposed to tell you not to go into the light or something,” he said idly, still running the cloth over the blood on her face. “To be honest, I vaguely remember it. Seemed interesting, but give it some time. I-“

He paused as he reached Juliet’s chin, streaked with blood. Too much blood. Blood from her mouth.

“Hey. Can you open your mouth?”

No response. She had passed out again. She’d come to again in a little bit, so Ed carefully eased her mouth open with a few fingers to feel inside – and immediately pulled them free, heart thudding in his chest. No wonder she hadn’t been responding.

“…You deserved better than this,” he murmured. Not like she was the only one. He kept having to fight the rising panic, the feeling that it was Alfons he was holding, Alfons butchered and open – _Stop it,_ he ordered himself. The past and present influenced each other, but he was in the present. The past couldn’t be changed. He’d told Will that enough times.

He felt something in the pocket of her jacket, and stuck his hand into it. There was something inside – a pendant in the shape of a hand, with an eye in the center.

“Oh, I’ve seen these. They’re meant to ward off bad luck, aren’t they? I don’t know what luck has to do with it.” He put it around her neck, and the cold metal startled her awake, one good eye staring up at him in fear.

Oh. She’d felt the metal, and –

“I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

She looked down at the pendant, and he felt her muscles relaxing. Her eye might recover; it would be a while before it healed enough to tell. Then she raised her eyes back to him, mouthing a word and trying to push the sound out with the tongue that wasn’t there anymore.

“Why?” he echoed. Then he shrugged. “If you mean why I’m helping you, if I knew, I’d tell you.” He was lying. He had a pretty good idea. But even here, in a room he remembered too well… saying it out loud would bring it back.

He leant his head back against the wall. “I grew up here,” he said quietly. Too quietly for her to hear. “This was the sitting room. I think if you look in the corner, you can still see where I drew on the wall. My bedroom was on the next floor up. It’s all caved in now.”

If Juliet had either been awake or capable of speaking, he guessed she would have asked him if he missed it. That was another thing he couldn’t make himself say out loud, too worried that maybe somebody would hear, somebody other than the tortured wreck in his lap – because he didn’t. Not a single moment of it. These walls had watched the knives tear his flesh, too.

\---

She’d lost her temper. She hadn’t meant to. But now she was crying, all that extra tension coming out of her any way it could, hands shaking on the table –

“I came as soon as I could.”

She was too scared to even respond to him. She hadn’t washed the blood off her hands – she’d made the phone call to Dante, kept her cool, and then, finally – it had all come apart.

“Look at me.”

She tried, but she could barely move –

-then his fingers found her chin, wrenching it around. He was angry. Of course he was. Disappointed.

But there wasn’t any disappointment in his face. Just concern.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Mustang said, his voice almost… sad. “You were doing well.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. She won’t be missed.” His grip on her chin didn’t relax, even if his voice was sweet. “Now _lock it down._ ”

She wanted to claw his face off. She wanted to hurt him. She wanted to hurt herself. She wanted to die. She wanted to throw up. She wanted –

“Riza. Lock it down. That’s an order.”

That was right. If she locked it down, she wouldn’t hurt anybody else. She could focus. Needles and bullets. Precision, not impact.

She focused on the body in front of her – Mustang, hardly much bigger than her, but so much more _present._ So much more in control. He didn’t have any more of a real heart than her, but the Stone within him pulsed like one. She could watch it work, watch it keep him alive, the same way hers fuelled her. She couldn’t help that hers was broken. Not broken. Just… imperfect. Flawed.

“There we go. You look better already. My god, you’re a mess,” he clucked, grimacing at the blood on his white gloves. “The things I do for you.”

Something still raged in her at that.

“Thank you, sir.”

He smiled at that, a warm gesture that made things seem…not so terrible. “If I got angry with you every time you lost your temper, I’d never have time for anything else. Now go get cleaned up. We’ve got things to do.”


	20. Fresh Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: blood, disease, shattered identity/dissociation, unreality, alcoholism, implied/background ableism+racism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there’s a THIRD version of the Sage legend! The first version, as told by the Zhus, is in chapter 42 of Hero of the People; the second version, as told by the Changs, is in chapter 6 of Dog of the Empire (this one). This is the version told by the Yaos themselves.
> 
> Zhu Bao (Gluttony) is a character I’m really excited for, but please bear with a little; I know he hits some stereotypes early on and so, if you’re somebody already twitching in concern at his characterization, please remember that he’s trying to communicate in a language he doesn’t know, and extremely stressed. I am just as invested in doing right by him as I am Will :3
> 
> Translations: wǒ de xīng wén hěn làn – Mandarin for “My Xingese is very bad”, Diana is limping through it because the Xingese she knows is Cantonese whereas the Zhus speak Mandarin.
> 
> Gwóngdūng wá, èn? – Cantonese, huh? Or more literally, Guangdong speech – while Xing isn’t directly mappable to China, there’s still a Guangdong province because this joke doesn’t work nearly as well otherwise.
> 
> For people who don’t know anything about Mandarin vs. Cantonese, the two are… technically mutually intelligible dialects of Chinese with the same writing system but INCREDIBLY different pronunciations. (Cantonese has six to nine tones to Mandarin’s four, for example, and a lot of different idioms.) As an immigrant kid, the Xingese that Diana learned is… vastly different than what the Zhus speak. This is also a pretty deliberate reference to the fact that most historical Chinese immigrants to the West spoke Cantonese, since most were from Guangdong Province, and Hong Kong also speaks Cantonese, whereas mainland China speaks Mandarin. (These also aren’t the only two dialects – Hakka is another, for example – but they’re the largest two. Also, no, I don’t speak either of them! I just like languages, so if there’s any glaring mistakes in these, please do let me know.)
> 
> FINALLY - There is more chapter art! Please go back to Chapter 9 - Show Yourself to see the INCREDIBLE art by VioVayo <3 
> 
> Song is by The Eels.

~20~

_Whatever trepidation you may feel  
In your heart you know it's not real  
In a moment of clarity  
Some little act of charity  
You gotta pull me out of this mud  
Sweet baby I need fresh blood_

**_-Fresh Blood_ **

Once upon a time, more than ten generations ago, a traveler came from the west. He was a dangerous man, though a kind one, who had destroyed his home through his own hubris and now fled the ghosts of the dead through the wastelands and deserts, seeking peace and rest. But there was no rest to be found, for the ghosts in their vengeance had bound him to life, cursing him with what they no longer had.

When the Sage came to Xing, the clans gathered, and at first, wanted him to leave. He brought bad luck with him, it was said – but the Sage entreated the Emperor for kindness. He only needed a place to rest and recover, he claimed, and he would accept whatever limits were placed upon him.

The Emperor listened, and consulted with the clan leaders, and then proclaimed, “You are welcome to stay. But for a year and a day, you will remain within the palace limits. As Emperor, I will withstand whatever bad luck you bring, and with jade and salt we shall ward away the bad luck spirits that curse you so.”

The Western Sage accepted this gladly, and kept his company within the palace walls. However, he began to speak to the children, the staff, whoever would listen – and while none of it seemed evil, the crowd that gathered began to alarm the emperor. He tasked his oldest son and heir to listen in on the stories that the Sage was telling, and confirm that they were only stories.

The oldest son accepted this duty, and listened in upon the stories that the Sage was telling. At first, they bored him. But after a while, he found himself curious about the worlds he spoke of.

“Sage,” he ordered, “tell me. Do these worlds exist – the worlds beyond our own, with machines that spit steel and fire like watermelon seeds and where anything can be bought with a heavy enough price?”

“There are many worlds,” the Sage replied. “But yes, in a manner of speaking.”

“That isn’t an answer. But never mind that. What about the works of magic you describe? Is it possible, truly, to turn blood into steel, or grow an acorn into an oak overnight?”

“If you have the skill, and if the sun and the moon and the wind allow,” the Sage replied.

The emperor’s son was beginning to grow impatient. “You mock me with your answers. Do you not respect me enough?”

If the Sage had been a less dangerous or foolish man, he would have backed off and apologized. But the Sage was unaccustomed to being challenged. “I simply do not trust you.”

“Why not?”

“If I give you the knowledge to turn an acorn into an oak tree,” the Sage replied, “how will I know that the forest will not grow in the morning and be demolished for lumber by the afternoon? You may be heir to a throne, but not all knowledge is meant to be used or shared.”

“Let me prove myself, then.”

Perhaps the Sage stopped and considered, then. Or perhaps he was just as impetuous and foolish as he accused the heir of being. For he said then, to the restless young man, “The person who made me this way – an undying object – lives across the desert, and likely lives there still. If you doubt me so, go seek her out. Abandon your betrothed, your father, your responsibilities. Or, choose not to. The choice is yours.”

The young heir did not even wait before the day was through to vanish, in search of answers, or immortality, or both. When the emperor found out what had transpired, he thundered down upon the Western Sage – but the man did not move. “If he was foolish enough to run towards a myth, he was no emperor.”

The Emperor saw the truth in his words, but it did not take away the pain of losing his son. Instead, he ordered the Western Sage to leave the palace. The Sage was taken in by the clan Zhu, and married to the woman who had been the heir’s betrothed, Jiayi the auspicious one.

But upon his departure, a chill wind settled into the palace grounds. The servants fell ill. The plum blossoms withered upon the trees, only within the royal walls. And whether from grief, illness, or curse, the emperor shriveled away and died. Only his second son was left, and the clans cast him out, unwilling to allow the throne to be further dishonored by the name Yao. When a new emperor was chosen, the clan leaders said he should choose wives from every clan, to avoid the fate of the Yaos. There would never be a shortage of heirs to the throne again.

The second Yao son returned, in time – with his sons and daughters, the Yao clan that had sprung from him. He claimed his rightful place as a clan leader, if not as a royal son, but it came with a price; that the sons and daughters of the Yao clan would never forget the burden they carried. To be a Yao is to fight greed and dishonor not as a distant enemy, but as a bedfellow; and it is to accept this burden not with anger or hatred, but with grace and strength. But more than anything else, to be a Yao is to remember that dangerous men have sweet smiles, and that the man who offers temptation is just as dangerous as the man who accepts it.

* * *

Ranfan didn’t want to be here. She had deeply considered looking elsewhere to win the Emperor’s favour, or even just… not trying very hard. Yao Feng was eight years old. Nobody _really_ wanted him to be emperor, let alone from the fact that nobody was going to let _any_ Yao be emperor.

But…

But Yingtai had asked her to come. And she could no more say no to Yingtai than she could ask the sun not to rise.

She leaned against the stone wall of the tunnel. She wasn’t even entirely sure where she was. The Colonel had arrived, slightly disheveled, ready to take control of the situation – and said that if Ranfan could _find_ Yingtai, the Colonel would offer backup. That had surprised her. Perhaps it was the description of the woman who’d attacked Yingtai that intrigued her so much; perhaps Yingtai had simply left an impression on her. Perhaps she just wanted to arrest her again. Either way – either way, it was _help._

The problem was, sensing qi was one thing. Tracking it was quite another. She’d tracked the woman the normal way to the entrance of the lab, where the Colonel and the others waited; but faced with the Colonel’s expectant eyes, she’d blustered something out in broken Amestrian, and ducked underground. Clearly the Colonel thought Ranfan was capable of doing magic, and well…

She inhaled, then exhaled. Bao wouldn’t have been able to do this, and maybe not even Huan-shifu, who’d been so kind to her. But qi-sensing was the one thing she wasn’t just _good_ at, she was _gifted_ at. Anybody trained in martial arts or alkahestry could learn how to sense their own vital energy; those who were _good_ at the two arts were those who could track and understand the energy of others at close range. And Ranfan – Ranfan’s range was something special. So maybe she _could_ do magic.

She’d have to. She was out of ideas.

She closed her eyes, still taking controlled breaths, and tried to clear her mind. Here was _her,_ the flow of her qi from one point to another. Here was the Dragon’s Pulse below her feet, stone thrumming with its own quiet, slow, but still-moving energy. And within the stone, vibrations of its own.

Her head hurt. But –

_Yingtai._

There. There, like a flicker – a beat, but one so familiar that it hurt to hear. She was somewhere down below, so far below that Ranfan could barely make her out, let alone whether or not she was hurt. Who else? She could sense other people. Not many. One there. Another, close to Yingtai. Another –

_Here._

“Hello, little swallow.”

Ranfan opened her eyes. She hadn’t let her guard down entirely; her legs had slid into a defensive crouch without realizing, hands up and ready, but the stranger had still snuck up on her.

“Now, now, there’s no need for _that._ ” The stranger held up his hands defensively and smiled. The smile couldn’t cloak that he was one of them; the pulse of energy in his body was distorted, unbalanced, like two forces at war with each other. “You’re from Xing, aren’t you?”

It had taken her a minute too long to realize. He was speaking her language. She’d welcomed it so readily that she hadn’t immediately clocked it –

No, it wasn’t just that. He was speaking _old_ Xingese. Formal dialect, but with the casual lilt of somebody who was born to it, spoke it every day instead of at the court at full moons and to their honored elders.

“What are you looking for?” He cocked his head slightly to one hand. She could smell something – something _wrong –_

Something held her eyes to his. That didn’t seem wrong

(something is wrong)

and so she just turned the question over in her head.

“A friend of mine is missing,” she said finally. “Have you seen her?”

He paused at that – then grinned. “Might have.” He looked familiar – the kind of aching, nagging familiarity she got listening to Yingtai talk about the history of the clans. Familiar, but wrong. The details in the wrong places. “I don’t suppose she’s a foreigner like you? A little stabby?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s her. Can you take me to her?”

“Me? Why would I do that?”

Ranfan frowned behind her mask. He looked so _familiar._ And people all looked the same as one another, really; she didn’t have _that_ good a memory for faces, but the spill of hair over his brow, the way his catlike eyes curved up at the edges, the barest hint of freckling on his amber skin –

“I’m kidding,” he laughed, although the glimmer in his eyes seemed a little too predatory for her to take the laugh at face value. “She’s down this way. Come on.”

It wasn’t that his question had been unfair though. _Why_ was he going to help her? As he turned away from her, lifting a hand for her to follow, two things hit at once, almost knocking the wind out of her. One – as the strange pull at her focus faded enough for her eyes to wander – she realized what she’d been smelling. His hand was drenched in dark, drying blood, almost all the way up to his elbow and soaking the sleeve of his jacket. And his _jacket._ Topaz-yellow, the fabric slightly threadbare with age at the elbows, other signs of wear at the edges. But the back was decorated with a white flame, a long-abandoned sigil.

“You coming?”

She wasn’t a bold person, and she wasn’t brave, and she wasn’t clever. She’d gone along with Yingtai’s plan, in part because she could fight, and in part because Yingtai was the brave, stupid, crazy one – but Ranfan was the _quiet_ one. Maybe that was a good thing. She forced her feet into moving, keeping her eyes fixed on the man in front of her. She knew his name, now. She didn’t know how, or why, or if he was truly the same person who’d left…

…but Yao Ling hadn’t aged a day.

\---

“Are you sure just waiting out here is the best idea?” Havoc asked nervously. Truth be told, it wasn’t quite the situation he was nervous about – but it was a decent substitute. He’d called the Colonel, and she’d shown up… _mostly_ together. She’d gone along with the little ninja girl’s idea to flush out the homunculi, but he couldn’t help but notice that she was stumbling a little, and that the mad look in her eyes that had been around for… a _while_ now, was still there.

Bluntly speaking, Havoc was worried that the Colonel was drunk, and that she was going to get herself killed. And if he’d been warned a month ago that this was something he had to worry about, he would have laughed at the idea. Sure, the Colonel liked to drink. She was temperamental, and self-possessed, and unpredictable. But as he sat back, watching for her answer, he watched the stagger in her step as she leaned against the fence, the way she was trying to keep her eyes focused, and he had to stop himself from shredding his nails in anxiety.

“It’s the best we’ve got,” she replied after a moment. She was eyeing the other two Xingese nationals who she’d found with the girl. They were both handcuffed, but that didn’t make them less imposing. The smaller of the two was still almost up to Havoc’s nose standing, fat with a shaved head and small braid in the back and a black leather jerkin protecting him. The big one was… _colossally_ big. Probably the size of Major Armstrong, if not bigger, with his muscled arms exposed in a sleeveless, high-collared shirt. He had his hair tied in a tight topknot, which meant Havoc couldn’t avoid looking at his _eye._ It was clearly made of glass, but it was tinted deliberately red. At least, he hoped.

The man glanced up at him. “Admiring it?” he said, then grinned, exposing filed canines.

Havoc decided to go stand with the Colonel. Drunk or not, she seemed safer.

“I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped instinctively, but he just stood on the far side of her, _away_ from the two.

“Only thing I want to say is that I _much_ preferred the tiny one,” he murmured. “These two make me _nervous._ ”

“Make me nervous too,” she replied. “I don’t know where they’re all coming from and I’m starting to wonder if I’m bad at my job.”

“I mean, aside from being-“ Havoc glanced at the big dude again, “ _deeply unsettling,_ they seem. Fine? I don’t know. I can’t sort out what that girl was actually after.”

“Me neither. And when I don’t know what people want, it pisses me off,” she said between gritted teeth.

Havoc waited, looked around, made sure that there was no imminent danger, and _also_ that he wasn’t standing on anything flammable. “Uh, have you talked to the Lieute-“

She glared at him with so much intensity that he wondered if he’d miscalculated and the red-eyed freak was actually safer. But then a moment later, the fury dissipated – not entirely, but enough to realize it wasn’t directed at him. “No.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Keep your sentiments to yourself, Havoc,” she said, although a ghost of a smile lurked around her lips. “If Lieutenant Valjean wants to tank his own career, so be it. I’ve got other things to worry about.”

Havoc opened his mouth to ask something – but whatever had been on his mind disappeared as a yell came from one of the two prisoners. It was the smaller of the two – he’d gotten to his feet, a panicked look in his eyes, and he was straining at the handcuffs, trying to break them.

“Shit! Hold him, hold him-“ The other soldiers swarmed him, and the big guy rose, trying to push them away.

Havoc approached, hand on his gun – then stopped, frowning. Maybe it was just all the years with Will. Everybody else was assuming he was being _violent._ But there were tears in the corner of the younger one’s eyes, and the big guy – the older one, a parent, a guardian? He was murmuring something in Xingese, trying to calm him down, as he rubbed his hands on his face, trying to shove the soldiers away.

“Hey – hey, _stop,_ leave him _alone!_ ”

“What – are you serious?”

“He’s not going to hurt you. I’m pretty sure, anyway.” He gave the other soldier a shove until he got the hint, and backed away from the younger prisoner. The others followed his lead. Havoc wasn’t sure he’d done the right thing – then he glanced up at the man who’d intimidated him so much before, and got a grateful look in response.

“What is it, Havoc?” the Colonel asked from behind him.

“He’s _upset._ ” Now that he was closer, it was obvious. How _old_ was this kid anyway? Older than he seemed, probably – the smoothness of his face was distractingly ageless – but definitely younger than almost everyone else here. “Hey, kid. Kid, do you speak any Amestrian?”

He stared back at Havoc helplessly, and it was the big one, his guardian, who answered. “No. I speak some. Bao, none.”

“Can you, uh - ask him what’s wrong?”

The big guy wrinkled his nose for a moment, processing – then turned to Bao, speaking in rapid-fire Xingese. Christ. Havoc couldn’t speak that fast in Amestrian. They were going to need more than that.

He turned behind him and grabbed the Colonel’s arm. “Diana,” he said quietly, and when she glared at him in fury at the use of her first name, pushed down the sudden fear he always got when she was mad at him – “I know, I know. But I need your help. You speak Xingese, right?”

She snorted. “Not exactly _well,_ Havoc. And since when are you giving orders?”

He dropped his voice even more. “Because you’re not.” And god – it hurt seeing the look in her eyes. She hadn’t realized how obvious it was. And he _hated_ being in charge. There was a reason he hadn’t sought promotion. But Valjean wasn’t here, the kid wasn’t here, and Breda and Falman were guarding the entrance to the Lab 5 tunnels, and besides, they wouldn’t be any better at this…

“Please?” he asked again.

“Fine,” she snapped, pushing his hand off her arm. She faced the two of them, and the older one struggled with his words some more, cursing in Xingese (at least, it looked and sounded like a curse) before managing something.

“Yingtai, trouble,” he said after a moment, growling in frustration. “Feel it. Not me – him.” He looked angry, but Havoc had a feeling it wasn’t directed at any of them – it was the fury of not being able to speak and be understood. Had they simply underestimated how hard it would be to pick up the language once they were here? Havoc knew very little about Xingese, just that it was _devilishly_ hard to learn.

The Colonel said something in Xingese – and the relief on his face was palpable as he started talking at her. “Slow down, slow _down – wǒ de xīng_ _wén hěn làn_ – uh, _làng_?” She groaned. “Fifty different types of Xingese and I know the least useful one and not even _well._ ”

The big guy just raised his eyebrow. “ _Gwóngdūng wá,_ _èn?”_

“Yes. Shut up. Bao _feels it?_ Like the other girl, uh, Ranfan-?”

Bao started waving his arms, clearly panicking more. Solaris grabbed his hands, and he blinked at her, clearly startled. “Ranfan? Trouble?”

“Trouble,” he sounded out, looking up at his guardian. Then he nodded, clearly scared. “Trouble.” Then he pointed downwards, below their feet. “Trouble.”

“I see.” Solaris glanced up at the big guy. “What’s your name?”

“Name? Oh. Zhu Huan.”

“Huan, Bao, I promise I will go get them _both._ Okay? Will you make sure he knows?”

Huan nodded, then spoke to Bao in Xingese, translating what she’d said. Havoc watched Solaris’s face carefully, the determination rising fierce and bright in her eyes. She was going to go in. Normally, he’d be happy to see her looking like her old self. Normally, he wouldn’t even have to be.

She turned and made it a few steps away, but Huan’s hand fell on her shoulder. He leaned down, and Havoc was close enough to hear, even though at first he couldn’t understand why Huan would use his broken Amestrian. “Do not take Bao. Please.”

Solaris frowned. “The two of you can fight. Can’t you? I thought you were this girl’s bodyguards.”

Huan looked a little awkward at that, then Havoc processed the sadness in his eyes. He glanced back at Bao – smooth-faced, sweet, panicked, clearly the only member of the group who hadn’t picked up a _word_ of Amestrian. He was clearly _strong;_ the muscles in his arms made that much clear, but he wasn’t the kind of boy you took into battle.

Solaris had clearly reached the same conclusion. “I see. Your son?”

He shook his head, then pulled a face. “ _Wài sheng…_ sister-son?”

“Nephew. I see.”

“ _Nephew?_ Terrible word.”

She smirked despite herself, then raised her voice. “Guards, you can uncuff them. They’re no current threat, but I’d still like them to stay here until everything’s taken care of. Huan, keep an eye out for trouble. On _either_ side of the barricade.”

He nodded.

“Breda, you’re in charge. Falman, radio City Watch and get the roads cordoned off. And the rest of you, if anything comes out of those ruins that isn’t me or Ranfan Yao, you shoot – to _disable,_ not to kill. God knows I need something to interrogate.” She adjusted her gloves, then turned to Havoc, clearly ready to tell him to stay behind –

“I’m coming with you.”

She sighed. “I don’t suppose you’ll take no for an answer.”

“Not this time around, no.”

“It’s wearing off.”

“Which means you’re tired, groggy and hung over.”

She winced. “Keep your damned voice down.”

“You need support, Colonel. And –“ he hesitated, then barrelled on. “If Valjean isn’t here to watch your back, somebody else had better be.”

She stared at him, a little shellshocked. Then an almost-relieved smile spread across her face. “I suppose being shot in the back would make a rescue mission hard. Fine. But don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Not a chance, sir.”

* * *

(When you can’t breathe,) (he says, a voice so far above you, so tall it’s easier to stare at his knees) (when you can’t breathe or think through the panic, focus on the basic questions.) (he says this in another language but you translate it in your head) (why?)

(Why?) – don’t think about that one yet.

(When?) – time doesn’t mean anything. You don’t know how long you’ve been here.

(Where?) – below. Below. Below. Below. Below.

(What?) – what’s on your hands and your face and your body – cloth and wetness and he’s trying to help –

(WHO)

(who is he)

(who are you)

(who is it who is it who is it)

(he is…not the one that hurt you, this much you know)

(you)

(you is a pile of broken fragments and you will -)

(you will figure it out later)

Juliet.

(there)

(that works)

“Yingtai?” 

Hurts.

Hurts to hear it. Hear it and suddenly, you are ashamed. Ashamed, because this is

(how?)

not what was supposed to happen. No. Best laid plans. Yingtai is (where?)

“What happened?” Two figures standing in a rectangle of light and one comes closer and you do not want this, no, but she comes closer anyway, and the floor you’re on (what?) moves, two legs –

“I didn’t approve of it. It was-“ Words. Too hard to process. They keep rolling and rolling about. But the new figure slaps out at the old one. Too many people.

“I’ve got you-“ phrases and words and you have to focus to hear them, it hurts when she pulls you up and you want to _sleep,_ why won’t she let you sleep-

“Oh, sorry, little swallow.” The one she came in with. Tall, possessed (who?), black-haired and yellow-jacketed (like a wasp). He blocks the door. He smiles and it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

You know him. You know him. You know him.

You know him.

( _Yingtai,_ whispers the part of your mind that is trying to remind you. _Yingtai, be afraid._ )

(Be afraid.)

(Be afraid.)


	21. Slow Drain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: blood/injury, off-screen cauterization, tattooing/needles, emotional abuse of a teenager, reference to poisoning death, fantasy drug use/addiction, violent ideation, mild transmisogyny/homophobia (along the lines of what’s already been present re: people not really knowing how to talk about Will and treating it very jokingly), ableism/sanism, latent suicidality
> 
> Some elaboration on the TWs; thematically, some of what's coming up is the hopelessness around being mentally ill and neurodivergent in an environment that actively punishes and doesn't allow for it. This is... gonna hit home for a lot of folks! So I'm actively mentioning it up here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re hitting another High Impact/High Action sequence! Will has been out of the action for a bit so getting him back into it will be really fun~ (You didn’t think he and Alex were literally across a stretch of water from each other for no reason?)
> 
> I mentioned this in Chapter 1, but a lot of Jareth’s backstory is pulled not just from the manga but specifically the interpretation of it from We That Are Young by Stoplight Delight. (Particularly Mordred as his father’s name!)
> 
> The tattoos-as-impeding-alchemy theory I am not 100% sure holds up, but it’s certainly true that of the alchemists we see with tattoos, they aren’t able to do any other alchemy – Scar isn’t really an alchemist and can only use the arrays on his arms, and Kimbley’s tattooed arrays aren’t actually arrays separately, only together. On a meta note, the real reason for the absence of tattooed alchemists in FMA and the general stigma against them is probably because of yakuza associations with them.
> 
> Song is by The Exies.

~21~

_If you must be concerned  
I'm on a slow drain now  
As you watch me burn_

_- **Slow Drain**_

_You’re dying,_ Jareth tried to tell himself, but it didn’t really work. After all, he’d been dying so many times in his life. What was one more, in the grand scheme of things?

“Jareth! Jareth, please, tell me what to do, I don’t – I don’t know what to _do,_ I’m a _librarian,_ I shelve _books-_ “

_You’re dying._

_You’re dying._

He kept hearing it in a different voice every time. Diana. Maes. Father. (That prick.)

“You’re not dying,” the voice cut in. “It just feels like it.”

Grant wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be reassuring, but he was going to be damned if he was going to admit it. Hours, he’d laid here, face down on a table with his shirt off and feeling horribly exposed. No, that didn’t quite encapsulate it. He felt like a _specimen._ His father hadn’t so much as asked him how he was feeling. He was too busy with his needles and ink, like a lab experiment.

At least, he thought wryly, it wasn’t a change from normal. He’d be more concerned if Mordred _did_ start showing interest in his welfare. A few months ago, Mordred had started asking about his growth spurt, and that had been weird enough, until he realized what it was he was after. Mordred didn’t give a damn about the fact that his son was fifteen and already had to hunch over to get into the house. No, he just cared about his _back._

“What is it?” he asked, finally. Just to break the silence, and to distract himself from the pain. He wasn’t going to let on how much it hurt. It was just a tattoo. Just a tattoo. _You’re not dying. It just feels like it._

“It’s none of your business-“

“Oh, _save it,_ ” he snapped, unable to hit the frustration, and bit down on his tongue as a needle slid deeper than it needed to. Accident or deliberate? It didn’t really matter. “I just mean it’s. I mean. I should know the basics.”

Grant could hear him hesitate, balancing two things in his head. Mordred made no secret what he thought of Grant – a clueless near-imbecile, all brawn and no brain. But at the same time, he made a good point – and then _again,_ actually conceding that his idiot son had made a good point made murder-suicide look preferable. He’d never quite said that part out loud. Not quite. “I was going to tell you later, but I suppose if you insist. It’s a coded array.”

“Oh.” Then – “ _Oh._ ” He felt a little sick. He knew it would be something like that. His father’s secrets. His research. “Isn’t… isn’t that dangerous?”

“Only for alchemists. Somebody like _you_ doesn’t have to worry.”

Grant drew his hand to his mouth and bit down on his finger hard enough to draw blood. He wasn’t stupid enough to start trouble with his back exposed and bleeding. He wasn’t. He _wasn’t._ Too stupid for alchemy. Too stupid for anything, apparently. And he _wasn’t._ He listened to what his father rambled about. He paid attention. He’d even transmuted something the other day-

-And then it hit him.

“Wh-why’s it dangerous for alchemists?”

“Mind your business.”

“Sorry. I was just curious.”

“Hmph. I suppose somebody might ask you. Alchemy may seem like a simple act of putting hands on a circle, but energy circulates throughout the whole body. It’s why a sickness or weakness in an organ affects a transmutation. If you’re working with one array, and there’s another drawn or inked onto your skin, the two will, at best, cancel each other out. At worst, there’s explosive results.”

His stomach dropped into his boots. It was too late for him to push Mordred away or tell him to stop. And besides, what would he do then? Maes had said he’d talk to his family about taking Grant with them, but that was a pipe dream, honestly. He didn’t have any prospects. He didn’t have anybody else. And what was he _really_ upset about, that his brief experiment with turning wood into charcoal with a circle didn’t mean he had a future? Better just to shut up, let his father finish, and figure out what his father had in mind for him later.

Later that night, though, with bandages on the in-progress tattoo on his back and the burning on his skin so bad he couldn’t sleep, Grant stuffed his face against the pillow and muffled his scream until he thought he might suffocate. For a moment, he’d almost been good at something.

_Get me out of here,_ he thought, desperately, and he touched the photo under the pillow. His father didn’t know he had it. And if his pipe dream turned out, he never would.

The photo.

Diana.

_You’re dying._

_You’re not dying. You just feel like you are._

He opened his eyes. It took so much effort – more than it should have. Maybe he was dying a _little_ bit. “Sheska.”

“Yes! Yes, it’s me. What do you need?”

“There’s half a bottle of whisky – counter. I need that.” When her face fell, he shook his head. “Trust me. And – my coat. Lighter.”

She frowned, but scrabbled to her feet. His vision blacked out again for a moment, and he let his hands move down, hitting the sticky, wet place in his abdomen that –

- _organs those are organs you can feel-_

Shut up. Not organs. Just flesh, flesh and blood. If they were organs, he’d have been dead already. Ling – whatever he was – hadn’t punched all the way through but. Big hole. Big.

Jareth grabbed the sleeve of the loose shirt he’d been wearing – black, but not his usual clothes – and ripped some of it off with his teeth. Sheska was back a moment later, and he grabbed the bottle of whisky, pouring some of it over the cloth and stuffing it into the wound. He could barely feel it, but that was good. That was fine. He’d feel it later. Or maybe he wouldn’t. That was the fun thing about dying.

“There’s so much blood…”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, that’s the bad part. Doesn’t…” He took a deep breath in, then out. “Doesn’t look like he hit. Hit anything big otherwise. No kidneys, no stomach, just maybe some of the – the big arteries in there. Don’t think he was – trying very hard. Aiming.”

“You look-“

“Don’t say it,” he groaned.

“I’ve got to call someone.”

“No time. We gotta go after him.” Jareth wasn’t sure if that made sense. But it was the only thing he could think about. Somebody hits you, hit back hard enough they don’t get up. Motherfucker. One of those bastards they were after. Don’t lose the trail. His thoughts were all muddied up, leaking out of his head like –

-well, like the blood through his hands.

“Lighter?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s big enough,” she said nervously as she eyed the wound. So she’d caught on.

“Gonna make it work. Got a secret. But first you. You gotta grab my gun.”

“Me?”

He nodded, suddenly feeling like he was going to pass out. “…I need you to do it. I can do everything else. Can’t – can’t hold it.”

“No, I –“ Sheska’s hands went to her mouth, eyes pinpricks of horror. “Jareth, I’m a _librarian!_ I can’t, I _can’t,_ I’ve got to call somebody, Havoc or the Colonel, or, or – _literally_ anybody else, please-“

“I’ll be dead before they get here.” His vision was starting to go again. _You’re not dying. You just feel like it._ It was keeping him awake. God knew how. He raised his hand to Sheska’s face, realizing too late that he was putting his blood on her cheek, but she didn’t flinch away. “I’m sorry,” he said, and he put as much as he could into that statement. “He hurt you. I’m making him pay.”

Sheska still looked troubled. If anything, more so. And as she picked up the lighter, he kept the last bit of vague memory to himself –

-the fact that Hughes had called him the night he died, and that in the morning, he’d found the phone off the hook.

He wasn’t letting Ling escape. Not this time.

* * *

Alex hadn’t meant to put it off for as long as he had, but now that he was finally sitting in the room he shared with the others, facing Fletcher Tringham and unsure what to do with his hands, he had no idea how to start.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Fletcher said finally, breaking the silence. It wasn’t accusatory; just quiet and sad. “I figured as much with how you were avoiding me.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Did the Fullmetal Alchemist kill him?” Fletcher asked from his seat on the bed. Alex was standing opposite from him, leaning by the wall next to the window. “Is that what you haven’t wanted to say?”

Alex shook his head. Maybe a month ago it would have been easy to claim that Will had killed him, that it had been as simple as another casualty on the long list of them – but he’d lain in bed, revisiting it over and over, trying to think of what he would have done differently in _this_ body, if he would have fixed it, if he would really be a better Fullmetal Alchemist than Will was. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he’d have had the magic words to convince Russell otherwise. Maybe he would have had the right answer at the right time.

“We were…travelling back to East City from Lior. We always end up taking detours, usually because of rumors or just Will trying to avoid the Colonel-“

Fletcher raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, they don’t get along. The point is, we ended up in Xenotime. Will introduced himself as the Fullmetal Alchemist, and immediately got kicked out as an impostor. Turned out somebody was already claiming to be the Fullmetal Alchemist, up in the landlord’s castle.”

“Russell,” Fletcher exhaled, in a mix of relief and frustration. Alex almost smiled.

“Yeah. He’d managed to convince Mugear that all the rumours and gossip about Fullmetal being a crossdresser and a flaming homosexual were made up to discredit him. Let me tell you, Will was _not_ fond of that.”

“Wait, so he _is-_ “

“He quite proudly and annoyingly wears women’s clothes, yes,” Alex provided. He wasn’t about to advertise his brother’s sexuality, even if Will sort of did that all on his own and then was startled that it wasn’t a secret. “Annoyingly because he never goes for _classy._ Uh, not the point.”

“It does make that story about him kissing Lyra a little bizarre,” Fletcher mused, and Alex almost laughed.

“Never underestimate the lengths a teenage boy will go to establishing his masculinity. Skirt or not. Which actually – yeah. When Will heard that Russell had taken his identity, he basically broke in to start a fight with him. Which is predictable enough, but…” Alex tapped his fingers anxiously on the wall.

“What was he doing?” Fletcher looked so wide-eyed and concerned. And that just made Alex feel _even more guilty._ Because he’d eaten up everything Dante had told him about the Red Stones, hadn’t he? And she was probably telling the truth, but – there was that _nagging detail._ Like something he’d forgotten in the back of his head. A piece that didn’t fit. And he wanted to understand it, and he wanted to avoid it.

“He and Mugear were making Red Water. Trying to distill it into Red Stones.”

The blood drained from Fletcher’s face. “Like Dad.”

_Like Dad._ “Your father-“

“Yeah. He made himself sick doing it, I…” And then Fletcher stared at Alex, tears starting to form at the corner of his eyes. “No, no, _please,_ he wasn’t-“

“He was sick,” Alex confirmed, dropping his eyes to the floor. “Really sick. Will was trying to get him to stop, but he was – fixated. Which is a symptom, I just…” _And what about the fact that they make them here, Alex? Are you going to tell him that? Are you going to tell him that you know how they taste, and that_ you’re _not sick? Are you going to tell him that while he’s imagining how his brother’s hair was falling out and his skin burning?_

“…Why didn’t you tell me?” Fletcher whispered.

“I’m sorry. I was… scared. I keep thinking we could have done more to help. Mugear and Russell both died, but Russell deserved better. And we didn’t – I didn’t _know_ he had a brother. I just saw his alchemy in action enough to know it when I see it.”

“I see.” Then Fletcher’s eyes flicked up to Alex, piercing and blue. “So what else aren’t you telling me?” His eyes were watering, but his voice was clear.

Alex hadn’t expected that, and suddenly, he felt his heart hammering against his ribs. He wasn’t used to this anymore. The pain in his chest, the guilty sweat dripping down the back of his neck, the tension in his shoulders – “I…” He could lie. He could try to lie to Fletcher, if he wanted to. Just lie to him, and the problem went away. Fletcher didn’t need to _know_ about the Stones. Red Water had toxic fumes, but Stones were only toxic if you used them.

….Right?

_Right?_

“Not, um… not everybody gets sick from Red Stones. I didn’t know that at the time. And Red Water’s the _really_ toxic one anyway, Stones are different once they’re made, I –“

“Alex?”

_Envy said not to tell anybody. Dante said the same thing._ And Fletcher would hate him once he knew, because god, how did you tell somebody that the poison that killed their brother was what was keeping you alive? “Do you hate Red Stones? The whole – idea of them?”

“I hate what they did to my family.”

“But would you hate somebody who – who needed them?”

Fletcher’s eyebrows furrowed. “…My dad always claimed he needed them. That the _world_ needed them. It doesn’t work that way. If a source of unlimited energy exists, it’s not from poison.”

Alex wanted to believe that he still had an unreadable face, that he could keep secrets – but he knew better. The silence stretched out and he had nothing to fill it with, because he couldn’t even offer up anything as noble and selfless as that. _He_ needed them, because without them, the body he had, the body he’d worked so hard for, would fall apart on him. And even knowing that, knowing it was selfish and self-serving –

-he couldn’t make himself say that he’d give it up.

“So that’s how your body works,” Fletcher said finally. “I was wondering. That’s what it is, right?”

“I – I mean, I-“ He sighed. “Yes. But it’s not, I mean – _Dante_ makes them. Nobody’s getting hurt. It’s just kind of unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate?” Fletcher echoed in horror.

“Yeah, I mean, it – it’s not _like_ with Russell. However it is she does it, it’s different.”

Fletcher stared at him, and Alex could see it – the withdrawing, the backing away that was emotional more than physical. He’d expected it, but the simmering anger rose up in his stomach anyway. _Judge me all you want,_ he thought, sneering, _but what do you have to show for it? You’re a decent alchemist but you’re a coward who thinks poison in a bottle can hurt you._

“I’m going to leave.”

“-What?” He hadn’t expected that response.

“I…” Fletcher sighed. “I’m glad you told me. And I know you trust Dante. I just… don’t feel comfortable working with somebody who makes Red Stones. It goes badly too quickly. I don’t know _anybody_ who’s tried making them who hasn’t gotten sick.”

Alex tried to hold onto the anger, because the anger had been… he’d been able to do something with it. If Fletcher was judging _him,_ he could stay angry. If Fletcher was mad at him, he could return it in defense. But Fletcher was just… making a decision. That was worse. That was so much worse.

He tried to think of something to say, and everything hurt too much. Because he _liked_ Fletcher. He liked Fletcher, and he didn’t want him to leave, and everything he thought of to make Fletcher stay was mean, and cruel, and would just make him leave faster, and _jesus christ this was what Will had felt,_ and he didn’t _want_ to understand Will right now, he didn’t want to feel terrible about the past, he wanted to be angry and lash out and-

_-you could break his neck, it would be so fast, or even just his legs if you want him to stay so badly, break his legs and tie him down and then you won’t have to deal with the hole he’ll leave, stuff his mouth with something and cut him open-_

Alex didn’t realize he’d fled until he was grasping one of the pillars in the main foyer, the clatter of his own feet down the stairs still echoing in his ears.

He’d called Will the crazy one. And if he tried, he could maybe still hold onto the idea that he’d been justified, if he just – made this go away, forgot it had happened, pretended that he’d let Fletcher go with grace, because he hadn’t _said_ any of it, right? None of it had left his mouth.

He dug into his pocket. Envy had given him a satchel of Red Stones for emergencies. There were about ten of them in there, and even just one made his head feel so much clearer, like he could _breathe._

Fuck it.

Alex poured the whole satchel into his mouth, felt them melt into acid onto his tongue, and swallowed it down.

* * *

Yock Island was not a particularly large place, so when Will started to catch on that he _genuinely_ wasn’t alone, it was at least not a terrible ordeal to figure out who it was. Mostly, he paid attention for a few days, then after eating his roast rabbit (the fourth so far; Yock was admittedly kind of limited in variety), he laid down on the grass, hair splayed out underneath him, and said to the air, “You can come out now, Izumi.”

There was only silence, and then a muffled curse. He opened one eye. “I’m not ten anymore. Come on out or I’ll catch you in a rabbit trap.”

“I’d love to see you try.” With a whoosh of leaves, Izumi landed next to him. “I suppose you heard me coughing.”

“Actually, no. You covered it up pretty well. But I’m paranoid enough to notice when my fishing rods have been moved.”

Izumi looked a little sulky at that. “…You were never going to catch anything.”

“Well, _no,_ I hate fish.” Will couldn’t help a smile. “You felt that bad about leaving me here alone, huh?”

“I did not. I wanted to teach you a lesson.” She crossed her arms, but the soft look remained. “…I _wanted_ to teach you that you don’t have to be alone. You doing fine on your own kind of capsized that.”

Will sat up, then patted the grass next to him. “C’mon. Sit down. No way has all that sneaking around been good for you.”

“Don’t coddle me.”

“I’m not. C’mon, Izumi, I’m missing an arm and a leg. We don’t have to pretend you’re not disabled anymore.”

She looked startled at that, then sat down next to him with a groan. “…That _does_ feel better. I still might smack you for it later.” Then she gave him a curious look, eyes flicking over his face like she was looking for something.

Will sighed. If she’d been here the whole time – “Oh, just _ask._ Please. We both know what you’re going to-“

“So you’re gay, huh?”

“ _Other question. Not that one,_ ” he squeaked in horror, then buried his face in his hands. “ _I was expecting the other one._ ”

“I’m not _surprised._ ”

“Can at least _one_ person pretend they are? For shits and giggles? Like, can one person pretend they never saw it coming and they were totally expecting me to wife up a girl and get her pregnant with babies- _stop laughing,_ ” he demanded, as Izumi contorted her face struggling not to.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she snickered. “But no matter _who_ you’re attracted to, I’m not sure kids and a picket fence were in the cards.”

Will had to concede that one. Even before the mess he’d made of his life, he hadn’t found that particularly appealing. Never mind that when he _did_ think about it, he much preferred the idea of _being_ the wife to having one. “Fine. Fine, I just –“ He sighed. “It’s weird that everybody _knows._ ”

“Will, darling, if you didn’t want everybody to know, maybe you could have checked a couple fewer boxes on the stereotype sheet.”

“Be fair,” he grumbled. “If I wanted to do that, I’d wear more pink, surround myself with attractive men, and talk with a lisp.”

“I have bad news for you, dear. You’re from the rural East and the men you work with are-“

“ _Shut up or I will make you._ ” He buried his head in his knees, more out of embarrassment than any actual upset, but Izumi’s hand on his shoulder came as a comfort anyway.

“My plan when I went to get you was to bring you and Alex here, drop you here for a month, and then beat the shit out of both of you when I brought you back until I was satisfied that you weren’t going to betray my teachings again.”

“I am the _picture of surprised,_ ” Will snarked into his knees.

“…But you’ve punished yourself plenty.”

Will rolled his eyes, confident that Izumi couldn’t see it, and earned a light smack on the back of his head for it. “Ow,” he said flatly.

“I’m serious, Will. I thought I was grabbing my arrogant student who’d always been a little big for his britches and reminding him of the basics. But you never _forgot_ them. If anything, you’re overcompensating.”

He sighed, lifting his head. “You are going to have to explain this little bit of psychoanalysis to me, Izumi. It’s been a while since I’ve had a therapist, and he was a dickbag.”

Izumi drew her hand back, leaning her chin on her knuckles. “You still talk to your mom.”

“…Yeah,” he admitted. “That’s the question I _thought_ you were going to ask.”

“She was who you were trying to bring back, right?”

“You want a gold star for that – _ow!”_ He rubbed the back of his head. “Are you going to smack me every time I’m sarcastic? Because your hand’s gonna get sore.”

“So’s your head. Are you going to let me talk or not?”

“Fine. Just get to the point.”

Izumi rolled her eyes – _hypocrite –_ and then poked his shoulder. “All is one and one is all means you are worth just as much as everything else around you. You’re not worth more, no. But you’re not worth less, either.”

“Christ. That’s your big realization? What makes you think I of all people have low self-esteem?” he scoffed.

“You’ve been here for three weeks and eaten four times.”

Oh. Huh. He hadn’t done the math on that one right. “Okay, well, I have a high metabolism-“

“You keep insisting the transmutation was _your_ responsibility and not shared with Alex.”

“Yeah, I’m the older brother. Also, I kind of hounded him into it-“

“I taught both of you, Will, I’m not stupid enough to think you could bully Alex into something _that_ serious without some effort from his side.”

…He actually hadn’t thought about it that way. “Fine. What else?”

Izumi looked a little troubled at this one. “I hate the military. And I know you understand that, and I know you accept it. But in all my viciousness, you haven’t _once_ defended yourself or told me why you joined up. If somebody is concerned about you signing up to be cannon fodder…” She paused. “Either you don’t respect or fear me enough to tell me the truth, or you’re perfectly happy as cannon fodder.”

Shit. Will opened his mouth to argue, but that was a _completely_ different perspective. Of course he didn’t think of himself as cannon fodder. But he really _had_ just kind of accepted that he was a piece of shit for joining the military and left it at that. “…I mean, I’m not about to defend the military.”

“No, but you’re allowed to defend your choices to me. I’ll still fight you on them. But I’m just really worried about why the _fuck_ you would join up now. I was worried before, but now I’m terrified. Are you _trying_ to get killed?”

“Of course not!” But he bit his lip anyway because – would he even know? “I – I don’t _think_ so? They’ve never sent me into combat-“

“And that could change tomorrow.”

“…Yeah.”

God. Okay. He could see why Izumi was concerned. He scratched his head, trying to figure out how much to tell her. “I don’t…um… I don’t really know _how_ I feel about the military right now. I guess I listened to you about them before but it didn’t really hit me. I was a kid, you know? The stuff in Rizenbul affected me, but I just kind of took everybody at their word that the rebels were the bad people. And then over here it was so much more abstract.”

Izumi looked ready to argue, but then nodded.

“And uh –“ He winced. “Okay, this makes Solaris sound really bad.”

“That’s not a heartening statement.”

“She kind of recruited me?”

“She _what._ ”

“Not – you know – forcibly! She just told me that State Alchemists had access to more information, more resources, that it meant I could maybe fix things. Put Alex back the way he was. And she had a point.”

The fury in Izumi’s face was terrifying, but more than that, saying it out loud was… disconcerting. Will hadn’t thought about Solaris recruiting him for years. Telling somebody else made it horribly real, and especially with how much better he knew her now, he couldn’t help but stare at it, the image of her whispering in his ear, and feel… well… _manipulated._ But-

“So you’ve been her puppet,” Izumi said viciously, and Will shook his head vehemently.

“Nope. Pretty much free run. All I have to do is report shit back to her and not cause her too many headaches. I haven’t…” He frowned, thinking about it. “I _haven’t_ been sent into combat. At all. And she works National Security.”

“So basically she’s line one of protecting the interests of fascism. Wonderful.”

“No, you don’t _get it._ She works National Security. I –“ Will blinked, then flopped back onto the grass with a shout of frustration. “She’s been _deliberately keeping me out of trouble_ I am going to _kill her._ ”

“So what, this woman actively recruits a twelve year old into the military and then keeps him away from anywhere that would actually benefit her? What kind of sense does that make?”

Will laughed into his hands. “It doesn’t. I just never questioned it. She confuses me a lot.”

“It sounds like she’s playing her own game.”

“Maybe. I know she wants to be Fuhrer one day.”

Izumi _audibly_ rolled her eyes again. “What is it with people who think that replacing one dictator with another is going to uproot a state system actively built on oppression?”

“One day you’re going to explain to me how that works.”

“What, anarchism? Gladly. _After_ you quit the military.”

Will snorted. “I don’t think I can at this point. Not without leaving the Colonel and Hughes and Valjean in the lurch. She’s… stuck her neck out a lot to protect me. And I don’t know how I’m going to find Alex without their help.”

Izumi sighed. “You like her a lot.”

“I guess – not like that! Ew!”

“It _is_ worth checking.”

“I did just establish I’m gay, you know.”

“Bisexuality is a thing. So you two are friends, not just commander and subordinate.”

Will shrugged, suddenly confused. “I… I don’t know. I kind of hate her guts, but I feel like maybe I _wouldn’t_ if she wasn’t in charge of me.”

“And Valjean?”

Shit. Will hadn’t predicted that one fast enough. He pulled up the high collar of his shirt to hide the rising redness.

“I _see._ So _that’s_ your older crush. I knew there was one somewhere.”

“I’ll pay you to stop talking.”

“No amount of money in the world would be enough. Also, if he touches you, I will cut off his hands and feed them to him.”

“That was unnecessarily graphic, and also, I am _fully_ capable of protecting myself.” It was kind of nice, though, he reflected. He’d missed her.

A moment later, Trisha peered out from behind a tree. Will glanced away, trying not to give it away to Izumi. But he had to ask anyway – “You said you heard me talking to my mom.”

“…I did. Yes.” The hesitation in her voice gave it away – just how much she’d heard and understood.

“Am I crazy? I mean – I know I’m crazy. But there’s crazy like, I’m diagnosed with something I’ll get better from, having an understandable reaction to stress –“ He shrugged. “Whatever. I usually don’t care.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy. I do think you need more help than you’re getting. I don’t know what that _looks_ like, though.”

Will looked up at Trisha through his eyelashes. She was just standing there and listening, almost _respectfully._ “Yeah. Yeah, nobody seems to.” He could feel it – the way he was retreating back into his shell, building his walls back up. Izumi meant well. And he almost, _almost_ could enjoy the conversation they were having, because it was honest, and it was sincere, and it was real, and that was exactly why he was struggling with it. He didn’t do honest and sincere. It hurt. It hurt, because that was exactly how people (how Alex) believed that someday, he’d be the kind of normal they could live with. And he wasn’t sure that was ever going to happen.

Izumi believed – even if she didn’t say it – that the military had done this to him. Just like how Gracia had believed that he only crossdressed _because_ he was crazy. If he stopped being crazy, he’d stop wanting to look like a girl, and if he quit the military, he’d stop being crazy, and maybe nobody really believed that or they’d gotten over it like Gracia had, but it was hard to rid himself of the lingering feeling that he would _always_ have been like this. Izumi was right about one thing; he thought he was worth less than the people around him. But it was mostly because people kept saying so.


	22. Run Boy Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: torture aftermath, violence/body horror along the lines of bones going crack and other unsavory stuff, heavy flirting/PDA/sexual overtones if that ain’t your jam, bodily displacement which I don’t know how to tag but nobody’s here because they haven’t already figured out how this part of FMA goes, brain damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh I love canon divergence AUs. So much.
> 
> Some folks may notice and be curious why Ling keeps calling Ranfan “little swallow” – that’s a meta reference to the incredible Ranfan fic “Swallows on the Beam” by Shu of the Wind. It’s incomplete and hasn’t been updated for years, but gave me a lot to work with in terms of Ranfan’s characterization, and while it’s been years since I’ve reread it, I know it’s probably informing even more than I probably realize about my Xingese worldbuilding. Highly recommend! (I should make a little side doc with all the fics I recommend and reference in these A/Ns, huh. Intertextuality in fanfiction FTW.) As far as I can tell, there’s nothing in her actual name that translates to that, so it’s just a fun little habit of Ling’s. (Lan Fan/Ranfan can translate to ‘cold rice’ or to ‘orchid blossom’. And before somebody brings it up, yes, I KNOW that Lan Fan is probably a more accurate transliteration, but short of going through the whole fic to go use that one…)
> 
> The explanation of the Dragon’s Pulse/qi here is mostly taken from what Mei says in the manga/Brotherhood, paired with qi as explained elsewhere. Part of why it comes off a little strangely in Brotherhood to Western viewers is because it’s a pre-existing concept in Eastern stuff, kind of like how Western shows can drop stuff like “ley lines” or “rule of three” without having to do massive amounts of background explaining. I’ve tried to push some of that unfamiliarity into Dante especially since I’m having to play a bit of catch-up on it – so on that note, if you’re somebody who gets the concept/is more familiar with it and is rolling your eyes at my explanation, please do let me know! I’m willing to work on it right up until it boinks my plot.
> 
> I was not expecting or planning for Alex/Lyra and I make zero apologies because it is hilarious. The super gorgeous art, which aside is probably the cutest art of Lyra I've ever seen, is some more from @Red_Dragon_Art, who can be found at this link: https://www.furaffinity.net/user/thereddragon13/. Red also did the art of Alex in chapter 16!
> 
> Song is by Woodkid. I don’t think anybody really needed that, but still.

~22~

_Run boy run - the sun will be guiding you  
Run boy run - they're dying to stop you  
tomorrow is another day  
and you won't have to hide away  
you'll be a man, boy  
but for now it's time to run, it's time to run_

Ranfan wasn’t sure what she’d expected Yao Ling to bring her to, but the wrecked mess that bore only a passing resemblance to the girl she considered a sister was…

“Yingtai?” she asked again, voice quivering. The man who’d been with her didn’t say anything else, his eyes fixed carefully on Ling. “Is – she’s alive, right?”

“Yes. And she can hear you. She just can’t speak.” The blonde man stood up, arms lightly crossed in a deceptive slouch. “You’d better get going.”

Ranfan was ready to question him, but decided better of it. She lifted Yingtai off the ground, pulling one of her arms around her neck and wincing at the muffled sound the other girl made. “I’m sorry,” she murmured to her – then paused. The blonde man, clearly Amestrian, had spoken to her in Xingese.

She looked up at him, then at how he and Ling were trading looks. They were working together. She had to go. _Now._

She moved for the door, but Ling blocked her way. “Sorry, little swallow. That wasn’t part of the deal.”

She backed off – then made a break for it anyway. Ling came up behind her faster, knee hitting the center of her back and sending her flying onto the old, dusty carpet. This was an old mansion, underground for god knew how many years, and the dust got into her eyes even through her mask, meant she couldn’t see –

“Not so fast,” Ling drawled into her ear. “We haven’t had any fun yet.”

“Master Yao. Please, let us go,” she pleaded, but part of her already knew it wouldn’t do any good.

“So you know who I am. I was wondering if you’d put that together. And who are _you,_ little swallow? Another descendant of my airheaded fiancé and that doddering old man?”

“Yao Ranfan,” she managed to get out from between her gritted teeth – and she felt him recoil. “Your family.”

“ _Well._ Isn’t that interesting?” For a moment, she thought it meant he’d show her mercy. Then his hand came down on her shoulder, pressure growing and growing with inhuman strength and the half-dried blood that wasn’t his smearing onto her clothing. “Then we should have more dignity than to run around after other clans, hm?” he murmured into her ear, lips almost touching it, as he squeezed tighter and tighter.

She tried, but a howl of pain burst out of her mouth as her shoulder gave way. Dislocated or broken, she wasn’t sure – but she _thought_ she’d heard something snap.

“Yuh… Yuh…”

Yingtai. Yingtai was struggling to rise, sounds coming out of her mouth that didn’t quite turn into words. “Just go,” Ranfan begged, voice breaking in the middle as she forced the words out through the pain. But she could already tell that Yingtai could barely move.

“Let them go, Lust.”

Ranfan managed to look up behind her through the watering of her eyes, fear almost making her black out. It was the blonde man again. He looked far too relaxed for the panic of the situation, like this was a Saturday evening for him – but his stare said otherwise, fixed on Ling. _Lust,_ he’d called him. Like whatever it was that dwelled in the Yao heir’s body was something else entirely.

“It’s none of your business-“

“I said,” the blonde man said with a growl, reaching forward and hauling Lust off of Ranfan like a misbehaving child, “ _enough._ You’ve caused _enough_ fucking trouble.”

Ranfan could barely breathe. What was this? Pity? Mercy? But then she realized – they could _go._ She could barely feel her arm. But she could move, if she just willed it strongly enough.

“Yingtai,” she whispered, crawling along the carpet. “Yingtai, come on.” She grabbed the other girl, and put her onto her broken shoulder (not broken just tell yourself it’s not broken and you won’t feel like you have to scream SEE IT’S NOT BROKEN IT’S NOT IT’S NOT), using her other arm to pull herself up onto shaking knees. She slipped a few times on the carpet, but then they were headed down the stairs.

Ranfan chanced a look over the banister, down into the open ballroom of the giant, buried house. Nobody else was here. Her qi-sensing had told her as much, but she didn’t trust it at the moment. It told her that both of the men upstairs were multiple people stuffed into skin that was barely holding them. (stop thinking about your shoulder) Once she was out of the door of the mansion, she just had to – remember the way out of the city. It wasn’t far. She thought. She could remember. She _could._ It’d be fine. (stop thinking about your shoulder)

The mansion door was in front of her, and she shouldered it (shouldered haha stop thinking about how much it hurts stop thinking about how it’d hurt so much less if you put her down) open, and out into the ash-covered streets of the dead city. Yao Ling had brought her down here, told her that the city had been swallowed by an earthquake, long before the one above it had been built. Now it was a cave full of buildings that, in any other city, would have been full of people who could help them.

“Ruh…” Yingtai was trying to talk again.

“Don’t- don’t try to talk,” Ranfan begged. She’d gotten a glimpse inside of her friend’s mouth. She couldn’t think too hard about it. The last time she’d heard Yingtai’s voice. _I’ll be back in a bit. Don’t hate me too much for this._ And then the front-row seat to-

Empty streets. And which way? Which way had Ling taken her? Could she remember? That way. She thought.

It would have to be good enough. Because she could feel Yao Ling’s qi coming back after her, and he was gaining.

* * *

He wasn’t actually sure he remembered how he’d gotten to the library, just that he had read about three books in the space of half an hour, and he felt _great._ Also, he’d gone back upstairs at some point and told Fletcher it was fine, everything was fine, and that Izumi was a great master to have, just because Alex had avoided actually seeing her and skulked in the background didn’t mean anything and that Fletcher could totally just go there if he wanted to. He couldn’t remember if that had come before or after the books. Maybe between two of them.

He also couldn’t remember what had been in the books. He’d – probably remember later. Yeah.

“I thought I saw you skulking around.”

Alex dropped the book he’d been reading.

“Jeez. Somebody’s jumpy.”

“S-sorry.” The Stones really were wearing off. Not entirely – he still felt good – but that manic mental rush was gone. Now he just felt stupid. He bent down to pick up the book, and Lyra’s foot appeared on it, dark-red flats over nylon stockings so close to his face that it _had_ to be deliberate.

He looked up, eyes dragging over her exposed leg and her _far_ too short dress, falling off the shoulders and belted at the waist. “What would your mother think?”

“You’d have to dig up her grave to ask her,” she retorted with a snarky, red-lipped grin. She’d been toning it down while at Dante’s, probably to keep the old lady happy, but she was in full form tonight. Alex had to wonder why –

-then, as she put a hand on his chest and pushed him against the bookcase, he decided he had a theory.

“You,” she said with a smirk, “are _so frustrating._ ”

“Your words say insult, but your face says flattery. I’m confused.”

“Turns out I like hard-to-get boys. That was a revelation for me.”

“Really?” Alex couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “You seem like somebody who enjoys a challenge.”

“Yes,” she faux-pouted. “I’m not used to _getting_ one.”

“Uh huh. A boy you can’t flash your tits at and have him falling all over himself for you. How rare.”

Lyra’s smile faded a little and she looked genuinely troubled. “You’re not gay, right? I think I could only handle that once from the same family.”

He couldn’t help the laugh, and she pinned his wrist to the bookshelf, glaring at him – but it turned back into a smirk. “Didn’t think so.” She touched his nose, ever so lightly. “You wouldn’t be enjoying this so much,” she whispered.

At first, he wasn’t sure what she meant – then he realized, with horror, which shorts he was wearing. “Oh god,” he murmured, screwing his eyes shut and feeling his face turn red.

“Aw, so _embarrassed._ ” Her fingers moved down to hold his chin ever so lightly, and he opened his eyes. She was gazing at him with curiosity, and more genuine longing than he’d expected. He liked her, more than he’d planned on – and, he realized, she seemed to have the same problem. “You _are_ bizarrely well-behaved.”

“Mostly I’m shy,” he admitted. “I’d love to claim I’m a gentleman, but I do sneak looks at your chest more than you think.”

“I’d be shocked if you didn’t. They _are_ wonderful, aren’t they?”

He rolled his eyes, blush or not. “You’re lucky the self-obsession is cute.”

Lyra seemed ready to say something else – then another set of voices leaked into the library, from a distance. “Shit, they’re starting already.”

“They?”

“This side of the library borders the main room – the big one, where she trains us.” Lyra got to her knees and pulled out an armful of books from the shelf. The back of the shelf was cut out – no, Alex realized with an annoyed internal sigh. It’d been transmuted away into a spyhole.

“Why am I not surprised that you didn’t actually come here for me?”

“Give me a break,” she snarked back. “I didn’t _know_ you were here. Mei’s getting special secret lessons from crone lady, and I’ll be damned if I’m missing out just because I’m not all special and _foreign._ ”

“You’re aware that-“

“-that I have a jealousy problem? Yes. Are you going to watch with me or not?”

Alex considered it. He could leave, to be honest. But the buzz from the red stones was still a pleasant hum in the back of his head, and it meant more time with Lyra… and he _was_ curious. “How do you know they’re not remedial lessons?” he asked, getting down on his hands and knees next to her.

Lyra scoffed. “Because if they were, I’d be the one getting them, not her.” It was a surprisingly honest statement from her, said with her usual spite and offhandedness, but with some real hurt underneath it.

Alex was tempted to tell her what the issue was – he’d watched and listened enough to know. But she was too proud to hear it, even from him – _especially_ from him, actually, he suspected. In every single one of Dante’s lessons, Lyra drunk in the theory, did the practice in her own time; but when it came to exhibiting what she’d learned, she kept sticking to the basics. Moving earth, changing basic states. Baby stuff, basically. Dante wasn’t looking for baby stuff, certainly not next to Alex, Fletcher and Mei. The only reason Dante hadn’t kicked Lyra out yet was because Dante, just like Alex, knew exactly what the array around Lyra’s neck was, and what she was capable of with it. She just kept refusing to use it. And she kept refusing to use it, because back in Youswell, her father had ordered her to hurt people with it, and for too long, she’d seen nothing wrong with it.

Of course, wild horses couldn’t have forced Lyra to actually _admit_ to that. Alex just hoped she came around to it eventually – that it was okay to still use what she was actually good at, as long as she was using it for a better purpose. Manipulating air didn’t have to be destructive.

Alex returned his attention to the narrow view of the main room. Between the two of them, they only had a square maybe the size of a book to look through, and he could only really see part of Mei’s legs. He could _hear_ them, though.

“So, explain qi to me, Chang.” Dante sounded imperious, but also genuinely curious. Alex wasn’t sure the last time he’d heard Dante sound like she _didn’t_ know something, but maybe she was just testing Mei.

“Qi is…” Mei hesitated. “Qi is also called The Dragon’s Pulse. It is the life energy that exists in everything – it flows from the top of the highest mountain to the smallest dandelion. Everything exists on this Earth because of it, and every living being is nourished by it.”

“Circle of life, yes. All is one and one is all, I’ve heard this.” Dante sounded mildly annoyed. “What does qi itself have to do with it?”

“Well, it’s… how alkahestry works. Not alchemy?” Mei sounded confused.

“They appear to run on slightly different principles. Continue.”

“Um, so alkahestry involves manipulating the qi of an object – understanding it, breaking it down and reforming it into something else. You can make an oak seed be an oak, but you can’t make it become a field of wheat.”

“Chang, these are the _basics.”_

“I don’t know what you’re asking me!” Mei was starting to sound agitated. Alex glanced at Lyra, who shrugged in confusion. She didn’t know what Dante was asking Mei for either.

“You can _read_ people. What is that?”

“Oh! You’re asking about qi-sensing! That doesn’t have anything to do with alkahestry at _all._ ”

“Really?” Dante’s voice was dangerous, and Alex bit his lip. Mei hadn’t meant to, but she’d sounded just a little like she was laughing at Dante. It was bad enough that Mei knew something Dante didn’t. She had to be careful about it. “Explain. How.”

“Um…” Alex could hear Mei quailing, and she took a few steps back, almost close enough for Alex to touch her. “It’s just… something we’re trained in. When we’re taught how to fight. Some of us are better at it than others. It’s a way of – of reading the Dragon’s Pulse, reading the specific energy of somebody and understanding the way qi flows in their body.”

“I see. Is this something you can teach?”

“Kind of? It’s like training the body. Muscle memory. It’s easiest to learn when you’re young.”

“Ah.” Dante’s skirts swished against the floor. “That saves me a lot of trouble.”

The floor that was so close to their eye-level lit up blue, and the circle that had been almost-invisible, so faint that Alex hadn’t noticed it, was now painfully visible. Alex felt it sear through his head, felt it pull at him, because _he recognized it._

“That’s-“ He couldn’t breathe.

“Alex?” Lyra whispered in fear. “What is that?”

“That’s the circle she used on me, that’s for moving souls around _this is bad, something is very very wrong,_ ” he gasped out breathlessly. He hadn’t expected even being near the circle to hurt so bad. “We need to help.”

“We need to get away, _fast.”_

“Mei is in danger. This is – really bad news.”

“Which is why we gotta _go!_ If we’re caught here, we’re toast. Better to pretend we didn’t see _shit._ ”

Alex glared up at Lyra, who’d already gotten to her feet. “She saved your life your first day here. You owe her.”

Lyra paused, staring down at Alex. It wasn’t just Mei she was remembering, he knew. He’d been there when Will had snapped at her for following her father’s orders mindlessly, seen – even when Will hadn’t – the way she’d stared at her feet, re-examining her decisions. She had the same look now. “Fuck it,” she grumbled. “Make that hole bigger.”

His head hurt so bad he wasn’t sure if he could, but he clapped his hands together and slammed them to the bookcase, collapsing it inwards. By the time he was done, the light had faded; the room they walked into just had two bodies on the ground, collapsed where they’d stood.

“See?” Lyra said nervously. “Maybe it was just… an experiment that went a little wrong. They look okay. Just passed out.” She bent down to pick up Mei, rolling her over and patting her cheek. “C’mon, there we go, hon. Just a little… giant array on the floor. Probably fine.”

Alex looked at the array on the floor again. It wasn’t quite the same one that he’d stood in the center of for his new body – similar, but different enough. He cocked his head, trying to understand what the purpose of it was. There was the symbol of the ourobouros; the homunculi had that tattoo on them a lot. The snake eating its own tail. And there; sulfur and phosphorus, the spirit and the soul.

“Mei? You alright?”

“I’m alright, dear. Sorry about that.”

Alex looked back at Mei, who sounded… wrong. Then he approached Dante’s still-collapsed form. “Dante?” he asked, bending down and shaking her shoulder. Usually he’d never be so familiar.

“I’m sure she’s fine.” Mei’s voice was ice cold.

Alex bit his tongue. Dante was starting to stir under his touch. He’d put himself between the two of them. That should help. And he had to be _sure._ “She is our master.”

“I don’t know why you were spying on us, anyway.” Mei was trying to sound petulant. Trying a little too hard.

“We just overheard you from the library.” Alex caught Lyra’s eyes. She looked confused – but just as concerned as he was. She knew something was wrong too.

Dante opened her eyes – and sat up with a shriek of fear. And the second she did, Mei slammed her hands back against the floor, sending a surge of energy through the floor and knocking Lyra and Alex to the ground. Not Mei, Alex knew – for sure, now. Dante. Mei, the Mei _he_ knew, was stuck inside the aged body he’d fallen down next to. But he’d expected Dante to respond, and he clapped his hands together and to the floor, breaking the circle apart with a crack of the tiles.

“Mei?” he whispered to the old lady next to him, and she nodded, shaking in fear. “Okay. Okay, let’s go.” He felt dizzy. _This isn’t right. This isn’t possible. This isn’t –_ But of course it was. This was the second body he’d possessed that wasn’t his. He didn’t have time to be panicked and disbelieving. He pulled her upwards, and turned to Lyra –

Lyra was still trying to help Mei up. _Dante._

“Lyra, _leave her,_ ” he hissed.

“But-“

Dante-Mei grabbed Lyra by the neck, alchemy sizzling from her hands, and the smell of burning flesh filled the room along with a strangled sob from Lyra. Alex threw herself at them, leg coming down on Dante’s arm, and it snapped with a sickening crunch.

“Lyra – Lyra?”

She nodded, tears streaming down her face – and Alex shoved her behind him as Dante rose from the floor, broken wrist hanging down behind her. Mei could never have worn that terrible and haughty an expression on her face, sneering through the unravelling braids framing her face.

“Don’t interfere, Alex.”

“What are you doing?”

“It is _none of your business._ ”

“She’s my friend!” Alex felt the adrenaline surge up in his body, and with it, the Red Stones, pumping through his bloodstream. He’d thought they were gone, but apparently not.

“Friend? Really?” She took a step, then another, towards him. “Haven’t you figured out by now that both of them are below you? I gave you a body that doesn’t die, power beyond imagining, and you think _they’re_ your _friends?_ ”

He couldn’t help the shaking in his hands. “I didn’t – I don’t – I don’t want _immortality._ I just wanted a body that was _mine._ ”

“Everybody wants immortality, Alex. Now move out of the way.”

What did she _want?_ Then he realized it with a horrible crash. She needed to get rid of the evidence. Mei wasn’t supposed to leave alive.

Alex clapped his hands together and slammed them to the floor, and the stone surged up into a barrier. Then he turned and fled, grabbing Lyra and Mei’s arms. It wouldn’t stop Dante for long – and _christ,_ if she called Envy –

-Envy. Would Envy stop them? Had Envy known the whole time?

No, if he started thinking about that, he’d probably break down and start crying, and he didn’t have time, he had to –

( _protect them)_

-keep moving, keep moving, why had he missed getting tired, why would anybody miss the way their tendons stretched and complained and pulled at muscles and bone –

Through the door, tumbling down the stairs with feet stumbling over each other, out into the main foyer lined with pillars and windows, the sunset light pouring through the massive windows and staining the floors and walls orange. Fletcher was standing by the door, and when he saw them, he started, looking between the three of them, trying to understand-

“Move!” Alex nearly threw Fletcher out of the way, miscalculating how much _stronger_ he was, then kept hold of his shoulders, wincing apologetically at the way Fletcher’s head whiplashed. “We gotta go. Now.”

“I was already _leaving-“_

“All of us. Move it.”

“You don’t have to- why is _Dante_ with you?”

“I’m not,” Mei said quietly, and Fletcher didn’t look any less confused, until the footsteps echoed down the stairs, slow and purposeful compared to their panicked scrabble.

“Would you stupid children stop and think for a moment before dashing off half-cocked?” Dante ordered in her usual tone – half-condescending, half-frustrated. Like they were just too young and foolish to understand the truths she was imparting to them. Usually Alex was willing to accept that she was older than him, that she was the teacher and he was _learning_ something. Usually.

“You’re going to kill her,” Lyra rasped from her burned throat. “You – you kind of already _have._ ”

“And what does that matter to you?”

Alex felt Fletcher tense, and put a hand out, stopping him from doing anything else. He doubted Fletcher was going to be the one to go for Dante’s throat – but he didn’t trust _anything_ he believed right now. Dante. He’d trusted her. He’d trusted that she had good intentions. Aloof, maybe, arrogant, _definitely._ All the best alchemy teachers were.

_Why didn’t you question it?_ whispered the voice in his head. _Why would anybody know so easily, so deftly, how to move souls around? Nobody knows how to bind souls for good reasons._

Will had learned for a good reason. There were always good reasons. But – But he hadn’t asked. He hadn’t wondered. Because it wasn’t his business.

“I told you,” Alex said again, trying to sound strong and brave. “She’s our friend.”

“She’s your competitor. There’s only room for so many alchemists in this world, particularly ones as strong as you three.”

Alex couldn’t help the furious huff on Lyra’s behalf – but she figured it out faster than he did.

“It was going to be _me,_ ” she realized in horror. “You were going to train them as actual alchemists, and me as-“

“A convenient young body? Yes. But one doesn’t pass up an heir to the throne when it’s offered, even if I _am_ going to have to make some modifications.” Dante looked down at them from the banister, the same position she’d greeted them from – shorter, younger, but still as domineering and cruel. “So really, you should be thankful.”

“ _Thankful?_ You’ll be thankful when I rip out your-“ But Lyra’s protests were subsumed into coughing.

Alex glanced around the room, trying to guess what her plan was. There was no way she expected them to give up Mei now. When he’d been small, the first things he’d always looked at was the environment.

The pillars. The pillars-

He looked at the top of the pillars, and two, four, six – more and more eyes looked back.

“MOVE!” he bellowed, and practically threw Fletcher after Lyra and Mei when he wouldn’t. Then he realized what Fletcher had been doing as the blonde smacked his hand against the door at the last moment – vines burst out of the small patch of earth between doorjamb and floor, blocking the way.

“Nice job,” he breathed. Where did they go? He’d lost count of how many homunculi there were behind them. They all looked the same-

“Too slow!” came the teasing jabber behind him before a knee hit in the back. He went tumbling to the ground, the body on him pinning him down, and he got a glimpse of blonde hair before the hand ground his face into the dirt. “Nice to meet you,” she teased into his ear. “I’m not allowed to kill you yet, but fun fact! Did you know-“

A blade sliced through his side, and Alex let out a muffled yell, fingers clawing at the ground.

“-you’re just as hard to kill as we are?” she sing-songed. “It’s _amazing_ what you can live through. I’m Sloth, by the way. And I _really_ don’t like traitors.”

* * *

“How dare you?” Lust hissed. “She’s _mine. My_ prey-“

“She’s done nothing wrong. And don’t you think we’ve got enough on our hands without starting a war with Xing?”

Lust’s lip curled. The wound on his head – barely a ring of raw skin, but not completely healed – was still visible, a sign that something had gone wrong with the process. If Pride could keep him here long enough, he could fix it. He could try, anyway. “Fine,” he said, grin spreading across his face, too wild, too unnatural, “let’s start a war. Let’s kill them all. Let’s wipe them clean.”

“ _Lust-_ “

Then, suddenly, Lust’s hands were around his neck, pinning him to the wall, not quite choking him but pinning him in place with his feet just touching the ground. “You remember,” he breathed. “You remember what they did to me. _You remember._ ”

“I remember that you left. It’s been three hundred years. Get over it-“

” _Get over it?_ ” Lust’s voice had changed, Pride realized. It was younger, more like the boy he remembered from years ago than the man he knew. “I was _cattle._ Breeding stock. A puppet. And-“ His face was too close to Pride’s, breath rich with stranger’s blood and stolen alcohol, “you hold a grudge as well as I do.”

A flare of rage ignited in Pride’s chest. “If you’re going to blow our cause, fine. I wash my hands of it. But I’m not saving your life this time.”

Something flickered in Lust’s eyes. If the healing factor had been working properly, if there hadn’t been – Pride guessed – Red Stone bleeding into his brain and drugging him out of any of the little impulse control he usually had, then he might have listened. That had been their relationship for so long – Lust got into trouble, Pride got him out of it, Pride made a stupid decision and Lust danced his way with casual abandon to kill everybody else involved and solve the problem. Pride didn’t _trust_ him. And Pride didn’t quite love him – who could love somebody who was so happy to have the freedom to kill that he’d spent centuries ignoring whether or not he should? But he was still _important._

But then, of course, if Yingtai and Ranfan had been from any other two families, perhaps it would have been different. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been the same insult.

Lust dropped him on the ground. Then he was gone, on the hunt – and Pride just hoped he’d given the two girls enough time to get away.

Envy wasn’t there, but Pride could hear him anyway. _Why do you care so much about them anyway?_ And Pride couldn’t answer that. Maybe it was still that same fucking thing that the Lieutenant-Colonel had said to him before he’d pulled the trigger, and what he’d said in return.

“I’m nothing like him,” he hissed to the empty room. Nothing like Will. And that meant he had to prove to himself that somewhere underneath all the mercury and phosphorate, he still remembered what it was like to be human.


	23. The Real Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: …uh. Um. Hm. Trauma reactions towards the plural/DID/fugue direction, rape threat, blood, I am GENUINELY having a hard time with these lately.
> 
> Also, the formatting for Ling/Lust's section is a bit headachey. I hope it works okay? I wanted it to be distinctive but ahhhh formatting ahhhhhh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ….possibly had too much fun with formatting/avant-garde stuff this chapter. *innocent face* hey this is fanfiction, I will do what I want!!
> 
> Broader notes, though – the plurality/DID themes have probably been pretty obvious anyway, but here I’m starting to bring them to the forefront. So it’s worth adding some background! While I think you can enjoy the fic without this, Dissociative Identity Disorder (previously known as Multiple Personality Disorder) is a real thing – and it’s also something that describes only a tiny corner of ‘plurality’, or any version of “multiple souls in one body, or perception of such”. There’s also OSDD-1 and -2 (Otherwise Specified Dissociative Disorder), and non-disordered plurality (alter-egos, headmates, etc. that don’t particularly bother you). It’s a part of mental illness that’s pretty hard to talk about, and definitely overlaps with schizophrenia, PTSD, BPD, and a lot of the other things I talk about, while also being significantly less discussed. I’ve been touching on it a lot, but with a lot of repeating themes – fusion, splitting, duality, trauma – so it’s worth adding that I’m exploring a very specific version of it, which… I was mostly doing by accident!
> 
> Song is by The Who.

~23~

_The cracks between the paving stones  
Look like rivers of flowing veins.  
Strange people who know me  
Peeping from behind every window pane.  
The girl I used to love  
Lives in this yellow house.  
Yesterday she passed me by,  
She doesn't want to know me now._

_- **The Real Me**_

The art of dividing a soul, such as it is, is not a precise one – but it is not as diffusive as one would expect either. There are many ways to do it. Some feel it out, isolate some parts by instinct, throw others back into the teeming background static. Others are hardly aware of what they cling to. Others, well – others, even if they erase it from their memories, there is still a _process._

Consider the following. A sun-drenched afternoon, somewhere in the vague west of Xing. This is what unites some of these players, you see. Location, more than anything else. (You didn’t think the Sage stumbled into the lives of just _any_ clans? Borders are borders.) The high walls keep out the sand, but not the small intruder hell-bent on gathering some cherries, trying to win a bet against some other Yao foundling.

The Yaos aren’t really foundlings. But that’s what the little princess below has been taught to believe. So when she laughs at the little thief, it’s quietly, so not to give her away, and then she climbs up and threatens to give her up if she doesn’t tell her who she is.

A little harsh? Maybe. Second children are given less attention, especially when they’re girls, especially when they’re girls like Yingtai who are acutely aware of _being_ second children. But she mostly wants a friend. And girls like Ranfan, who are shy to the point of painfulness and glad for others to take the lead, girls who instead of being a step away from status have never once been _close_ to it, accepts the terms. Although it takes some time to convince the princess that Yaos are not, in fact, a clan of bastards and unclaimed orphans.

This is a good memory.

This is a painful memory.

This is a memory put in a box and locked (but with a kiss laid upon its lid) because the princess in it is speaking with her own tongue, ungrateful for the little she had.

And then consider the following. A jail cell, shadows of bars falling across the concrete, and a woman on the other side, watching her with steely eyes. A wooden chair underneath her, a skirt so slim it almost pins her ankles together, a jacket and shirt with everything kept in place. The woman is asking her what her name is, what her intentions here are, where she has come from. Every response she gives is a lie.

This memory stays. This memory is a warning. This memory is a reminder. (This memory has a trap in it.) This memory becomes a building block. This memory becomes a seed, a sprout, a foundation. (Everything starts somewhere.)

Like I said, the art of dividing a soul is complicated. Perhaps she will regret it. Perhaps they will both regret it. Perhaps they will all regret it. Perhaps they will become countless. Perhaps she will forget why it was done. Perhaps she will never forget and it will become all of her, down to the core of her ice-cold, broken heart. Or perhaps her heart is fine, and it is only her body in shreds. Perhaps souls and bodies have less to do with each other than that. Perhaps calling anybody ‘ice-cold’ who has survived this long is an unfair judgement. Souls are called fires for a reason.

I have seen many versions, and many endings. Many think they’re exceptional, or strange. Others think everybody does it, in time. Truth is, usually, somewhere in the middle. That’s where to find me. Somewhere between the memory it hurts to love and the memory that loves to hurt you. Somewhere in the middle of hope and despair. Somewhere in the distance between your two faces.

So which face will you wear, mortal, when it is your turn – as it is everybody’s, in time? Which of your souls will you show me, standing at the Gate at the end of all things?

* * *

Hunting was fun. Hunting was easy. Hunting meant he didn’t have to think. Centuries ago, when he’d  
first taken the elixir, the new senses he’d been given were overwhelming; everything had poured into his  
brain, too much input, too much _everything._

He didn’t want to hunt them. He just wanted to talk to them. Maybe things had changed.   
But if they hadn’t – if they hadn’t, what would he do?

But over time, he’d grown used to them – and his new power, the ability only _he_ had. Lust was  
a tricky thing. It meant bloodlust or sexual desire, but more than anything, it meant _fixation._ In  
his case, it meant that he could grab attention, hold it, make somebody look at, see, hear, only  
him – or he could make them ignore him, barely see him in a crowd. It wasn’t invisibility; cameras  
still caught his image, dust still held his footprints, but in some ways, it was more useful. Like now.

They couldn’t see him. Or, more relevantly, the Yao couldn’t see him.   
The other wasn’t in much state to do anything. She reminded him of his fiancée, and he hadn’t _loved_ her,  
but he didn’t hate her as much as he thought, perhaps, he’d convinced himself of. She hadn’t been _that_ bad.

She looked so desperate. It was delicious. Perhaps he would rape her. Just for the irony of it all.

Somebody else was in his head. Somebody awful. He wasn’t sure when those  
dark thoughts had crept in, but he didn’t like them. He wasn’t going to hurt her.

Lust crept along the roof of the tunnel, over top of the interlocked sewer pipes and  
looking down through them at his prey. The Yao was stumbling along with the Zhu held  
in her arms, half-dragged, half-trying to walk on at least one broken ankle. He’d made a  
mess of the Yao’s arm, and she was still trying to use it. It was kind of like shooting a lame  
duck. He could have finished it right away, except…

…Except he hadn’t known there was family left. He’d thought he was the last. There’d been his brother,  
he supposed. He had barely thought about that boy even when he’d lived in Xing – twelve years younger and a  
dismissed and forgotten second child. He’d assumed the Yaos would die out or fade into obscurity. Except, here they were.

He supposed he’d just have to wipe them out himself.

No.

Why not?

Because she knows we’re here.

The girl in the tunnel raised her head, never stopping moving, and asked in her breathless voice,  
“Why did you leave?” Idiot girl. Like he’d answer. But the curiosity remained – as well as the aching  
sense that something was –

-wrong?

He was smarter than this. Even when he was drowning in bloodlust, he was smarter than this.  
Everything was foggy, like his attention was divided. And he knew – he _knew –_ that something  
was wrong, but not quite enough to make the drunk feeling go away. _I should have listened to  
Pride, _he seethed, but now that he was on the chase, he couldn’t give it up. He would have loved  
to have blamed that on the elixir, but the truth was-

-the truth was, he’d always been like that, long before the stranger showed up to share his body, before the two of  
them fused into one being and forgot who they were, and remembering was _painful,_ remembering was  
painful because a soul being ripped in half always hurt, no matter how small or stupid the event-

-the event precipitating it. A wound healing wrong.  
A bullet two millimetres too far south.  
A brain stem forgetting a letter in its code.

Ling sighed, fingers relaxing on the pipes he’d been clutching. “I’m sure the clans have  
plenty of stories. It wasn’t _that_ much of a secret.”

“I suppose not,” she said, still breathless, still half-running and half-limping even with  
her conversational response. “But everybody has a different version. The Zhus claim they’re  
descended from your _sister._ Everybody says you ran off after immortality, but…”

“But what?”

“But the Yaos, we – think the Sage tricked you into it. Who knows why?  
But he knew you wouldn’t come back.”

Ling chuckled at that, more dryly than he wanted to, until it turned into full-fledged laughter. The Yao girl paused,  
staring up in his direction (not quite at him; his power kept him concealed for now) with barely-concealed fear.

“Idiot girl,” Lust spat. But he couldn’t continue. He hadn’t been there.

And more softly, almost ruefully, even though he’d never regretted it a day in his life,  
“I never intended on coming back in the first place. Hohenheim had nothing to do with it.”

“But… _why?”_ She sounded so betrayed. Ling, or whatever ghost of him that Lust  
had been forced to deal with, vanished. Hard questions with no answers. And Lust –

Lust was hungry.

(The art of dividing a soul is not a precise one – but even after three hundred years, it’s always the original stitches that want to tear.)

* * *

Lyra Yoki, who _still_ hadn’t gotten around to changing her last name and was mostly thinking about that because it meant she didn’t have to think about anything else around her right now, collapsed by the lakeside, and it took her a few minutes to realize that Alex wasn’t with them.

“Alex?”

“One of the homunculi got him,” Fletcher wheezed. “I couldn’t – I don’t –“

“You didn’t do _anything?_ ”

“I am four foot eight! My alchemy is _slow!_ ” Fletcher scrubbed at his face, trying to hide his watering eyes. “I am useless!”

Lyra struggled to her feet, and immediately tried to throw herself back up the hill towards Alex – only for Mei to grab her ankle, and Fletcher latched onto her arm. “Don’t you dare! I’m not _leaving him!_ ”

“Lyra, please _think_ for a second,” Mei rasped, Dante’s voice warbling out of her mouth higher and shriller than it should. “This is _Alex._ ”

“What does that mean?”

The blonde homunculus who had been kneeling on Alex’s back suddenly got flipped over his head and onto her back with a yell – and promptly tossed into a tree trunk. She disappeared in a flash of white light, and Mei just raised an eyebrow at Lyra.

“Okay. Fine. I get your point-“

The homunculus reappeared in front of the three of them, and Lyra screamed despite herself. She and Fletcher backed up, guarding Mei behind them – and then Lyra’s foot disappeared into the water. They had nowhere else to go.

“Aw, cute little rats backed themselves into a corner,” the homunculus said, although she wasn’t smiling. “Listen, I could do this all day. So we can do this the hard way, or the easy way.”

“Any chance the easy way involves life?” Fletcher asked nervously.

“Oh, no, sorry.” She sounded almost genuinely apologetic. “The easy way is killing you fast and _not_ letting Dante experiment on you. Trust me, it’s a good offer. I’d take it.”

Lyra clenched her fists to hide how much her hands were shaking. She’d felt bad about Youswell for a long time, but this was the first time she’d been on this end of the equation – and now she _felt_ it, properly. What it was like to be a caged rat. She couldn’t swim – and by the sounds of their panicked gulps, neither could Fletcher or Mei. Not that she’d expected them to. They lived in landlocked villages. Nobody had ever thought it was important.

“And the hard way?” she challenged, trying to buy time as she glanced around. The homunculi were all copies of the same one, she realized. Alex was still occupied, backed into a corner by more of the same girl, who seemed to be working independently.

“The hard way is the _experiments, duh._ ” Sloth rubbed her temples. “She did warn me you were the dumb one.”

_Don’t rise to the bait,_ Lyra told herself. She wasn’t dumb. She _wasn’t._ She was –

She was standing in a strange line with Alex, with the homunculus clones between them.

She couldn’t look behind her and check, but she thought – _maybe_ – there was an island on the lake. Maybe. She couldn’t check. She had to… oh, _motherfucker._ She’d have to trust Mei and Fletcher. Trusting people. Historically, not something she was good at. She reached back and squeezed their hands, trying to convey as much urgency as possible.

Then she raised her hands to the array on her neck.

“What is _tha-_ “ Sloth asked skeptically, and to Lyra’s joy, Alex caught sight of her, and grabbed hold of the tree trunk he was pinned against.

The wind blasted out of the array in a sharp, focused tunnel, and god, she had _missed this._ And – she could admit this to herself, at least – she got a kick out of the little horrified squeal out of the homunculus bitch as she got blown away, too. And the thud as she hit a tree. She’d probably survive it.

Alex hobbled down towards them, pride gleaming in his eyes, and Lyra wasn’t going to _admit_ how good that made her feel, especially from somebody a whole year younger than her – but her chest was glowing. “Good job,” he wheezed.

“Shit. You’re hurt.”

“Not much. It’s –“ His smile cracked a little. “It’s already healed.”

“What? But you’re bleeding-“ Lyra ran her hand over his back. It was covered with blood, but there was no wound left. “But… that’s impossible.”

“I…” He looked so miserable that she knew it had to be more complicated than that. “I think I’ve made a really big mistake, Lyra,” he said so lowly she had to struggle to hear it, his voice cracking. “And I don’t know how to fix it.”

“I’ll help! I promise.”

He smiled, and took her hand, lifting it to his face. _He looks so old,_ Lyra thought, suddenly wanting to cry. _And so tired._ She was missing something.

“Uh. Guys?”

“What?” Lyra snapped without meaning to – and then she looked behind her. Lilypads and vines were bubbling from the lake surface, Mei concentrating and steadily guiding them into shape to form a causeway. But it was _slow._ Too slow – because Dante herself was coming down the hillside, in her stolen body.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mei whispered desperately. “I can’t – everything’s _wrong_ in this body, I don’t know how anything _works,_ it’s a miracle I can use my circles at all –“

“You’re doing great,” Fletcher encouraged, although the nerves in his voice weren’t the most encouraging.

Alex glanced up at Dante, then at the causeway.

“Don’t you dare,” Lyra hissed.

“Lyra, you _know_ I’m the strongest here. And I’m her pet project. She doesn’t want to break me.”

“I don’t care! We’re leaving together or not at all!”

Alex snorted, then leaned over and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Lyra, either you go across that bridge on your own,” he said in a quiet, almost charming voice, “or I will toss you into the fucking water and you can learn to swim. Either way, you’re not staying here.”

She tried to come up with a response, but her eyes were watering too much to put together anything reasonable. _I’m scared,_ she wanted to say. But that was too hard. And in the pictures, people always said _I love you_ at times like this, but she didn’t love him – she just thought, maybe, well, she _could._

Alex gave her a little shove, and the three of them started their retreat across the causeway that built itself in front of them as they went. Too slow. Too slow. And Lyra looked over her shoulder to hear the last thing from Alex Elric that she would in a long time – maybe the _last_ thing, but she refused to believe that.

“Alright, Dante. You want them, you go through me.”

* * *

The sun wasn’t set yet and the sky was a lovely orangey-purple, but it was _fucking cold,_ and Will was starting to wonder if he shouldn’t bother Diana about teaching him flame alchemy just to spare him the fucking trouble of wrestling with fires that did not want to get bigger. “Come on, you stupid thing. I am giving you food. Eat it. This is a simple chemical reaction. It _does not have to be complicated –_ oh, whatever.” Izumi was napping anyway. They were going back to the mainland tomorrow, and then he could figure out how to be a person again. Izumi might be crazy, but the time alone _had_ helped.

Well, mostly alone. And now that Izumi was here, he had to go pee somewhere _else._ Talk about ruining one of the few joys of being on a deserted island alone.

Will moved over to the island bank, firmly telling Selim if he was watching to _go do something else._ He probably wasn’t, but who knew? He’d apparently been spying on him for fuckin’ years-

_I’m not doing this on purpose, but thinking about me does sort of automatically open it up,_ came the amused, snarky response.

He hurriedly tucked himself back into his leggings. “Yeah, yeah, get a goddamn eyeful,” he grumbled.

_Not the first time!_

“Lovely. Can’t have any secrets, apparently.”

_You’re more than welcome to return the favour._

Will found himself turning red, and crossed his arms, trying to hide it. Somehow. From the person who knew everything he was feeling. “Why is it I feel like I’m being taken advantage of, somehow?”

Whatever Selim was about to reply, though, Will was distracted by shapes on the lake. The sun was setting more and more, but –

“Uh, Selim? You can see through my eyes, right?”

“Yeah. Those are definitely people running across the lake – _oh,_ alchemy. Okay, cool.”

Will moved towards them, frowning – and ended up in a direct collision, head hitting the ground. “Ow! Watch where you’re _fuckin’ going,_ why don’t you?”

“Will?”

“What?” Will opened his eyes, blinking to fix his crossed vision. The person on top of him was familiar. Black bobbed hair, piercing eyes – “Oh, _no,_ ” he whined, flopping back on the dirt. “It’s _you._ Why are you here? This is a lovely, peaceful island in the middle of nowhere. I am trying to _relax._ Don’t you have townspeople to harass?”

“-I would love to do this another time, Will,” Lyra seethed, “but _not the time._ ”

“What, are you in a rush or something-“

“Alex is in trouble.”

Whatever else he’d been about to say stuck in his throat as he stared up at her, and suddenly, all he could hear was the little lie he’d told himself, so many times over the last month – _he’s probably fine._

_He’s probably fine._

It was his fault.


	24. Crash/Concrete

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: parental death, sibling violence/abuse, internal misgendering, torture, lack of agency, racism towards mixed-race/diaspora people, blood/violence, guns, sibling incest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IIRC I’ve been kind of vague with exact timeline on Trisha’s death; I think I’ve given a few ages here and there, but I’ve always been trying to work with that she died when Alex was five and Will was six, and that they went to study with Izumi about a year later. I blame all vagueness in-text on Kid Memory being Kid Memory. (Ha! Convenient excuse, activate.)
> 
> Worldbuilding notes! Ardashir and Zur are two of the ‘Southlands’ that I’ve referenced I think maybe once or twice before. The map of Amestris’s setting ends just below Aerugo, so I’ve filled it in with a group of twelve variantly-sized but mostly small countries, ranging along the coast and linking Aerugo to Xing. It’s where most of the trade with Xing happens – however, not all of the countries in question are on friendly terms with Xing, so the desert is less complicated for Juliet and Mei in a lot of ways. The Southlands are broadly Asian, but that doesn’t tell you much – in opposition to Ishval’s Semitic nature and Xing being, well, China, the Southlands draw from less-represented Asian groups. I probably won’t be spending a lot of time in them, but I felt like they were an important part of the map. Basically, not all the brown people are Ishvalan, and not all the Asian people are Xingese. :P
> 
> The Twelve Southlands are Tsetserleg, Kumari Kandam, Ardashir, Zhuolu, Malayur, Shashanka, Zur, Ezo, Tundok, Angkor, and Hayasa-Azzi. Eagle-eyed and historically-versed readers who are paying attention to the details about the origins of the “seven sins” may know why Ardashir in particular is coming up now~
> 
> The city under Central isn’t given a lot of attention in 03 beyond being a great setpiece, so I’m spending some more time on it here. The amphitheater in this chapter is patterned off Ancient Greek and Roman theaters.
> 
> Diana knows ‘Yao’ as ‘Yiu’ because, as referenced before, her mother spoke Cantonese (Guangdong-wa) instead of the prominent dialect within Xing itself, Mandarin. A mogwai (mogui in Mandarin/pinyin) is a dead spirit who takes vengeance on people who hurt them in life, sometimes also translated as a devil or demon. So now you know more about Gremlins!
> 
> Song is by Theatre of Tragedy. (Yes, really.)

~24~

_I feel you pounding me onto the street-  
I’ve learned to know the taste of concrete  
hey, why don’t you follow me?  
why don’t you follow me?  
why don’t you follow me?_

_- **Crash/Concrete**_

The house was so horribly empty with Mom gone that Alex could barely stand to be in there. Instead she found herself, almost a week after the funeral, sitting on the hillside with a book in her lap and trying to pretend she was reading it.

Will still wasn’t talking to her. To be fair, she wasn’t sure it was about _her._ He wasn’t really talking to anybody. And he was _mean,_ sure, but she wasn’t stupid. He was meanest when he was scared, and so if he was scared enough that he wasn’t being mean anymore…

She dropped her head onto her book. Her ankle still hurt where she’d wrenched it, and the doctor had said it was going to be fine, before quietly asking if her brother had done it. It didn’t really matter how much you knew somebody was mean because they were scared. It didn’t make it much easier to deal with. And Will hadn’t _meant_ to shove her. He’d even felt bad. But – well – in the end it kind of came out to the same thing.

This wasn’t fair. Her sixth birthday was next month. She wanted to think about fun things. She wanted her mom back. She wanted Will back.

She closed her book and rested her head on the cover, and started to cry. She didn’t notice, at least not right away, the quiet presence sitting down next to her. At first she thought it was Mr. Bradley.

“Don’t cry. It makes your face look all gross.”

With a shriek of fury, Alex lashed out with the book – then dropped it in horror as Will fell backwards on the grass, clutching his face. “Oh my god, Will, are you-“

“Ow,” he deadpanned back.

“I – I can –“

“It’s _fine._ ” He wiggled his nose experimentally, then sat up with a wince. He looked pretty awful. There were big bags under his eyes, and his cheeks were hollow, which meant he’d been forgetting to eat again. He _kind_ of knew how to cook things, but without Mom to cook for. “…You’re sad.”

“Of course I’m sad,” she snapped.

“Because of Mom?”

She wanted to be angry, but Will had trouble with these things. She’d gotten him out of sticky situations at school enough times to know that he wasn’t _trying_ to be like this. “Because of Mom, and because of you, and I’m – I’m scared, and I’m _angry,_ and I’m confused, and – and my ankle hurts, and I want to cry but I think I’m all cried out and I don’t know if that makes me a bad person, and…” She gave up, feeling worse than before.

Will looked at her steadily, then gave her an uneasy half-smile. “That’s a lot of things.”

“I know,” she said miserably. “My head hurts.”

“I’m sorry.”

She tried not to feel excited. He hadn’t said what he was sorry for. But he was fiddling with a loose thread on the bottom of his jeans. “Mom said…Mom said I should look out for you more. That I needed to be a better brother.”

“She did?”

“Mhm.”

Then it landed on Alex like a weight of stones in her chest. It had been one of the _last_ things that Mom had said to him.

“I don’t know if I’m going to be any good at it,” he admitted. “I think you’re better at it than I am- _whoa!_ ”

Alex launched herself at him, tackling him to the grass in a hug. “I don’t care if you’re the worst brother in the whole word,” she said, struggling to keep back another sob. “You’re _my_ brother.”

“Yeah,” Will said quietly. “Yeah, I guess it’s just us now.”

* * *

He couldn’t quite make himself believe, still, that the person in front of him wasn’t Mei. She _looked_ like Mei, in her pink robe and her two pigtails, even if they were coming undone and black hair starting to fall over her face. And it was Mei’s voice coming out of her mouth, even if she’d never sounded so harsh, so cold, before – no trace of accent or girlishness left.

“So this is how you want to end it? A desperate last stand before I destroy you and go for your friends anyway?”

“Who says it’s a last stand?” he blustered. He wasn’t stupid enough to think that Dante couldn’t unmake this body as easily as she’d made it – but it was still a _body._ It was _his_ body. And if he could disable her, make a run for it –

The problem was the other homunculus. Sloth, she’d called herself. But she was more and more disinterested by the moment, and she said quietly to Dante, clearly not expecting Alex to hear her. “I don’t _have_ enough extras for this.”

“That’s quite alright. They’re kettled in on that island anyway. Nobody uses it.”

_Nobody uses it._ Dante didn’t know why _he_ knew about it. That was something. That was more than something. But what were the chances that Izumi would have students on it right now? She’d only taken on him and Will under duress. But – to his amazement – Sloth disappeared a moment later in another flash of white light. It was just him and Dante, facing each other across just over a foot of dead grass and wet sand.

Dante crossed her arms. “Well? Go ahead. Show off what a strong alchemist you are. How big and brave and _strong_ you are.”

“Yeah, I’m not _suicidal._ I know you can transmute without even putting your hands together.”

“Smart boy. Although, of course, transmutation still occurs at a certain speed.” She smiled, and her smile looked _wrong_ on Mei’s face. “So you’re keeping yourself open because you know if you’re ready for it, you can block anything I send at that island.”

He grinned, flashing his teeth at her. He liked how sharp they were – he’d asked for that _specifically._ Nothing like being a squishy little girl and then a doll to make you want to be intimidating. “Yeah. And you just sent your foot-soldier away. So whatever you do to me, you’re gonna have to hope you’re faster than me.”

“Says the fourteen-year-old boy,” Dante snapped, rage taking over for a moment-

“You’re not any older. Not right now.” Alex could feel the causeway at his back like it was staring over his shoulder. If he could distract her properly for _just a moment –_ he could destroy it. But if he destroyed it, he was stuck on this side. Stuck with her. He wasn’t brave enough for that – not yet. “You fucked up, Dante.”

“Language.”

“You let me see the array you transmuted _me_ with. It’s the same one, isn’t it? Sure, the mechanics might be different – but moving souls around, it’s kind of the same after a while. There’s a blood-seal just like mine somewhere on that body you stole. And…” He actually laughed, despite himself, and watched her face darken with thunder. “Man, I had to deal with being a doll for _years._ I didn’t have joints, I didn’t have fingers, and I made it work, but it took a _while._ So yeah, no, we’re the same age right now. And I’ve kicked Mei’s ass enough to know who’s gonna win.”

“Nobody likes a cocky little brat, Alex,” she seethed, enough to know that he’d gotten under her skin. Just a little. Just enough to feel better. “I gave you that body. How about some gratitude?”

That stung more than he’d admit. He’d gotten the body he wanted, yeah. At what price? He’d turned his back on his brother, on Diana, on Jareth – and he’d _thought_ it was the right choice, for more than that, more than _just_ that, but…

He’d gotten distracted.

His vision was filled with red sparks, and a second later, electricity raced up his body, charging through his veins, pain lacing through his skin like – like _fire,_ like he was being burned alive. The scream came out of his mouth involuntarily, and he couldn’t hear it past the pounding of his own heart in his ears. He tasted blood in his mouth, then sand. He was on the ground. He didn’t even remember falling.

Alex tried to push against the ground, and made it to his hands and knees – then the electricity ran through his veins again, and he collapsed with another sob. He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten what it felt like to hurt this badly. The last – only- time he’d felt pain like this was –

_-the gate-_

I WARNED YOU.

The sand next to him shifted as Dante bent down. “Did you think I was foolish enough to send Sloth away if I had _any_ reason to fear you?”

Idiot. Idiot. _Idiot._

“A control collar,” he forced out, realizing he’d bitten a hole in his lip as the sparks lit up again, healing it. “You have me on-“

“Yes, Alex. A very, _very_ short leash. How short it needs to be, of course, depends on how much you behave.”

“I’m not going to be your goddamn do-“ The pain started again, and he fell onto his back, pushing his hands to his face, trying to hide the tears. _Will could manage this,_ he tried to tell himself. _Will could deal with this without crying. Will’s strong. Will can deal with anything-_

But every time he tried to tell himself that, he just found himself thinking about the scars on Will’s wrist. Will _couldn’t_ deal with everything. And worse, Alex couldn’t deal with _that._

“You can make sarcastic comebacks all day if you want, Alex, but the body never adapts to pain. Not even created bodies. And somebody like _you,_ who’s still getting used to feeling anything at all? Well, it must be very overwhelming for you.”

_I want my mom. I want my mom. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want my mom. I want to go home._

* * *

There was an open door in the sewer tunnels that – Diana wasn’t _particularly_ well versed in sewer tunnels, but she would have bet from the way it looked that it wasn’t on any schematic or map of this area. For one, it was barely visible. And secondly, when she touched the edge, the door that was supposed to close it swung almost all the way closed, stopped only by her boot.

“Somebody didn’t close up behind them,” Havoc said dubiously.

“Or, our girl’s thinking ahead.”

“Our girl?” he said with a smile.

“Oh, sue me, she’s growing on me. She’s very dedicated.” She snapped her fingers, creating a small flame, then sent a bolt of light whizzing down the small stairwell. It didn’t illuminate anything worrying – at least, so far.

“…I don’t like how far _down_ those go,” Havoc mumbled.

“Me neither. Grab a rock, make sure that door stays open.”

They made their careful way down, hands steady against the damp stone wall. Diana leant in a few times, getting a closer look at the long-faded paintings they were passing by. “What do you think these are, Havoc? I don’t recognize the language.”

He paused in front of her. “Oh, that’s _weird._ It looks like Amestrian, but put through a woodchipper. But the people look… I dunno, like Southlanders. Ardashir? Zur? I’m bad at those.”

“Thank you for not being in our diplomatic bureau, Havoc,” Diana said, although with a smile. She was feeling better –

- _remember who was talking to you about Sveyati and Xerxes, Diana? Remember? Remember how that was Hughes the night he died? Remember? Hughes is dead, Diana, remember?_

Havoc was still talking, and she’d completely blanked. Probably for the best. Something bad was down here. She couldn’t-

Havoc’s feet skidded out from under him, and he let out a short, sharp yell as he fell down the stairs.

“ _Havoc!_ ” She tried to run down after him, but she had to choose her steps carefully. “Havoc, are you alright?”

Only silence in response. She could only hope he hadn’t hit his head, or broken something. The stupid, unpredicted perils were the most frustrating.

Then, a gunshot rang out – another, and another. Diana kept moving down the steps, praying for a banister, and held her hands at the ready. Another gunshot. Whatever Havoc was shooting at, it wasn’t working. She snapped, the sound almost as loud as the bullets in the heavy air –

-and when the flame lanced down the stairs like lightning, she saw the scene illuminated, just a snapshot. She snapped again. The two girls on the floor, Havoc crouching in front of them. Again, with Havoc firing into… nothing.

She snapped again.

Something was in front of her.

“Well, _hello,_ ” the boy said in faux-surprise. “I just keep getting treats today.” If he hadn’t already been covered in blood, the grin he gave her and the red smeared on his teeth ruined it. “And you are-“

“Colonel Solaris. Amestris Military.” She snapped – but before she could do anything with the spark, his hand came down on hers, and the transmutation fizzled out, spark falling down to the floor as nothing more than a cinder. His lips crashed onto hers, the taste of blood filling her mouth, and when she tried to push him away, his hands grasped her arms, and tossed her down the stairs to meet Havoc.

“Colonel!” Havoc caught her before her head hit the floor – whatever floor it was. “He’s one of those – uh – what Jareth was telling me about –“

“I had a wild guess,” she whispered. “Look at his chest.”

Under his open jacket, on his bare skin, there was a tattoo on his sternum – a red dragon eating its own tail. Diana hadn’t seen anybody with that tattoo before, but Will had described it in his letter. The boy came down the steps towards them, flipping the sword in his hand with a casual, practiced grace, and looking half-asleep with his lidded eyes. Like this was _nothing_ to him.

Diana glanced down at the two girls. Ranfan was crouched protectively over the other, but even with the mask pulled down over her face, she could see that the younger girl was in bad shape. One of her arms was hanging limp by her side, still moving but only barely, and the other –

Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t recognized the other right away, her face half-obscured with open cuts, blood-and-sweat-soaked hair hanging into her eyes, one of them stained with burst vessels- but when her eyes rolled over to meet Diana’s, there was no mistaking Juliet Douglas for anybody else. “Did he do this?”

“I – I don’t know,” Ranfan panted. “I _know_ him. But –“

“Know him?” Havoc echoed in horror. “He’s not _human._ ”

“Oh, Ranfan, don’t ruin my introduction!” The homunculus pouted, then laughed. “Prince Yao Ling at your service.” He bowed deeply, the barely-visible glint of his red eyes the brightest thing in the room. His eyes. He could see. They couldn’t. Then Diana processed his name –

“ _Yao Ling?_ You’re kidding me. Even I’ve heard that story. You named yourself after a fairytale and you expect me to be impressed?”

He snickered. “Oh? And do tell me, little mongrel brat. Which version did _you_ hear?”

_Don’t lose your temper,_ she reminded herself. She’d heard worse. And – god bless Havoc. He was quietly trying to gather up Juliet – Yingtai – whatever her name was in his arms. He would try to make a break for it up the stairs…

Except, stubborn man, no way was he going to leave her here if she didn’t kick his ass. “My version had Yiu Ling the Unfaithful. He abandoned his beloved and was turned into a _mogwai_ as punishment.”

The boy burst into laughter. “Amazing! You can’t even say my name properly, and yet…” He gave her an appraising look. “That’s the most accurate version yet.”

He was poking her buttons on purpose, she knew that much, but it stung anyway. She watched the sword, waiting for it to swing –

-and then… She didn’t know how else to describe it. Her attention _wandered._ One moment, she was watching his hands on the sword, eyes flicking around his posture, and then she was staring at the damp, barely lit wall. It was too dark to see anything except shapes, and –

Her breath left her mouth in a gasp as a blade bit into her side. She dodged away from it, hissing at the pain. “Havoc! Go!”

“But-“

” _Now!_ ”

“Oh no you don’t,” Ling hissed into her ear, shoving her aside and springing for the stairway entrance. Ranfan heaved herself up from the floor, and threw herself at him, knocking him off balance, and Diana snapped her fingers, a curtain of fire rising up between him and the rapidly-disappearing Havoc and Juliet.

The fire threw into sharp relief where it was they were _standing._ Stairs rose around them in concentric circles, and over top of the pit, buildings loomed, leaning this way and that, damaged in some terrible event. And they stretched on and on, streets and streetlights visible in the distance, some thrown up into almost-vertical hills, others smashed together.

“A city,” Diana breathed. “This is a _city._ ”

“No legends about this one?” the Yao prince teased. Diana snapped again, lighting the torches all around the pit in one stream of flame, and gazed down at him. He had his sword to Ranfan’s throat – and Ranfan had her kunai to his stomach.

“Let her go,” she demanded.

“Why?”

“She’s injured. Fight a real enemy.”

“Like you?” Ling threw back. “You think I’m in search of a _battle,_ Colonel? No, no – it’s _her_ I want.” The sword left beads of blood where it sank, ever so slightly, into Ranfan’s neck.

“You’re a homunculus.”

His eyes didn’t change, but he watched her all the more steadily. “More fairytales?”

“No. I’ve – heard about the others. And I’ve seen the Beast myself.”

He laughed at that one, then took the sword away from Ranfan’s neck. “Maybe you _will_ be more entertaining.” He seemed about ready to let Ranfan go, and Diana watched her shoulders drop with exhaustion and relief, adrenaline only carrying her so far –

-and then he swung out at her.

If her head had been pounding less, and if she’d trusted her eyes more, perhaps she would have done something different, but truthfully, Diana wasn’t sure she thought at all. His sword bit into her arm, just as sharp, just as cold as before. And Ranfan let out a noise from behind her that could have been a sob, but could have been something else entirely.

“Interesting,” Ling mused. “You want to fight me that badly?”

_Yes,_ seethed the part of her who felt repulsed by everything he was. “I want to know who and what you are. And I’ll fight you to the death if that’s what it takes.”

“Bold! I like it!” He grinned, his blood-smeared features all the more ghoulish now that she could see them properly. “How about a game? Keep me from the little bitch behind you, and each time, I’ll answer a question.”

It was unfair odds. He’d wear her down, kill her, and then kill Ranfan. Unless –

_Very few things can survive being incinerated._

She had no reason to believe that Mustang had any reason to know what he was talking about. He probably wasn’t even on her side – but if Yao Ling and the Beast were made of the same stuff, then it stood to reason that the same tactics would work.

“Fine,” she snapped. But her attention had wandered again –

“You’re looking the wrong way!”

Her eyes were drawn, helplessly, around to where he stood – a few steps up, hardly a foot from her. He was so _fast._ And more than that – she couldn’t keep her eyes on him, except when she couldn’t take them away. She had no control.

“Do you like it?” he preened. “We all have our powers, you know. But mine’s my favourite.”

“You’re doing it on purpose.”

“Of course I am! It’d be so inconvenient otherwise!” He inspected his nails carelessly. “Go ahead, I’ll let you get a question in first.”

“The others, they all have – sin names. What’s yours?”

“Such a silly thing to waste a question on. But sure.” Something in his voice changed – or maybe it had always been there. “I’m Lust.”

“Ling-“

“ _Don’t call me that,”_ came the sudden, almost panicked hiss. Diana didn’t push it, fingers at the ready, her other hand reaching for her gun and thinking through if she could use the both at once without falling over. She was dizzier than she’d expected to be, and this wasn’t – this wasn’t _fair,_ drinking had seemed like such a good way to get through the day until now, and she had to fight through the consequences because it wasn’t just her life on the line-

“Where were we?” Ling – Lust mused. “Oh, yes.”

Diana’s eyes slid away again, and she tried to listen, or look for a shadow, or anything-

A fist hit into the wound he’d made earlier, knocking her down onto her knees.

“We were killing you.”

* * *

There wasn’t really a good way to break this kind of news, really, so Grant just stayed where he was, leaning against the wall and waiting for Laura to finish staring at the photograph he’d shown her. He’d told her that he had only just put it together. Truthfully, he’d known, or at least, been almost convinced, for a week. Just… how did you tell somebody? How did you ask, to be sure?

Laura didn’t seem to know either. She kept looking like she was going to say something, but then her eyes would return to the picture. “That’s me?”

“I think so.” Now his certainty was wavering. “I… asked Chris.”

“You talked to _Chris?_ ”

“Not about – or – I didn’t _think_ I was asking her about you. I showed her the photo and she told me the woman looked like her sister.” Grant kept his eyes fixed on the rotting wood below his feet. “That’s my dad. Scumbag that he is.”

“Funny,” Laura exhaled. “I always – I don’t know. I hoped she was exaggerating.”

“She talked about him?”

“A little. She’s been dead for a while now.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, before it registered that that was his mother too. He couldn’t quite feel sad about it, though. It felt… transplanted on. Like an extra limb. “What was Leung like?”

“I don’t really know. What was Mordred like?”

“Oh, god. Good point. Trying to sum that bastard up into a few words is impossible.”

Laura quirked a smile at that, but her face fell pretty quickly. “…That’s definitely me, then. And the baby’s you.”

“Looks like it.”

“…So what now?” She was taking this very calmly, he reflected, but she’d probably snap at some point.

He uncrossed his arms, not avoiding her eyes this time. He loved her. Not in the right way, either. Maybe with practice, he could shove it all over to the right column – love her the way you were supposed to love a sister – but right now? Definitely not. “I don’t know. There’s Chris, but she’s got her hands full… I think it’s just us.”

“Yeah. It’s just us.” Diana licked her dry lips, eyes dipping unconsciously – he imagined – to his. “…Which means we can do whatever we want.”

He tried to come up with a counter-argument, but honestly? He didn’t want to.

And she wasn’t wrong.

_It’s just us._


	25. The Devil Went Down to Georgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: body horror (incineration), violence to hands and eyes (not super explicit!), self-harm (wrists; not in a MH context), prominent character death, just kind of a lot of body stuff in general

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY BIG DEAL CHAPTER TIME WOO
> 
> Worldbuilding notes! I said this somewhere before, I’m sure, but the clan structure is borrowed from the Hyuugas in Naruto – not quite as strict, but the idea of the “central” line of the succession and the “branch” families being in service to them.
> 
> Language: xuè qì means bloodline, heritage, or valor; the first character does translate directly to ‘blood’ and I checked – language is weird like that sometimes. (In Cantonese, the same phrase is ‘hyut3 hei3’.)
> 
> Oh, uh, also: if you ship LingFan, you have probably been quietly hating me for a while, but you’re either going to REALLY LOVE ME or REALLY HATE ME. I’m sorry! Canon(ish) shippers are not fated to have their shippy hearts pleased with this fic.
> 
> Song is by…..many people! The version I like the most right now is, shockingly, by Nickelback. They’re pretty good when they let themselves actually be a metal band.

~25~

_Johnny said, "Devil, just come on back  
If you ever wanna try again  
I done told you once you son of a bitch  
I'm the best that's ever been."_

_-Devil Went Down To Georgia_

The Yaos weren’t a clan of foundlings and orphans, but they weren’t rich, and they weren’t populous. Three hundred years hadn’t restored the clan’s fortunes by any means, and Ranfan was the third child of a second child, low-status by any account. Her father was the heir’s mother’s cousin; that was how far out of the line of succession she was.

It made sense, then, that nobody had noticed that she had a gift. Qi-sensing usually took years to refine, but she always knew when people were sneaking up on her, or when her mother was about to turn the corner to tell her to come help make dumplings. That was, admittedly, how she’d ended up in the Zhu orchard to begin with. But Huan had noticed. Huan had looked at her status in the Yao clan, seen how possessively Yingtai clung to her, and decided – why not? Yingtai would never marry a Yao, but there were other ways to make alliances, and younger, lesser-status children in the Zhu clan’s branch families.

Her family had noticed after a while, of course. They’d complained until they’d realized that a Zhu warrior was training one of their forgotten daughters, and shut up real fast. And they’d attempted to assign her a Yao teacher as well – but it was Huan’s teachings that Ranfan heard rattling around in her head. He was annoying like that. He’d repeat things, slowly, patiently, until she couldn’t unhear them.

_Sometimes, getting up is not the smartest thing you can do._ Her stubbornness tried to claim otherwise. But she could barely move. All she could do was watch the Colonel in front of her, guarding her (worthless) life from a monster she still didn’t understand. _Sometimes, be still. Observe. There is always the choice to not act._

Another burst of fire enveloped Ling – _Lust,_ she reminded herself – and he half-dodged the worst of it, pulling the charcoal wreck of his arm free with a wild grin. The two qi signatures she’d sensed were still fighting within him. What they were, she couldn’t comprehend – and the two were verbally sparring in Amestrian, which she could _maybe_ follow when she wasn’t dizzy and trying to stay conscious despite the pain.

_People are spiteful. People are cruel. But more than anything else, people are afraid._ Huan had told them both that one, at a moment when Yingtai needed to hear it. Ranfan wondered if she remembered. Ranfan wondered if she’d been thinking about that, when she’d grabbed her wrist and cuffed her to the railing.

Another burst of fire, another rush of heat against her face. She could fall asleep. It’d be so easy. You couldn’t be in pain when you were asleep –

-But that wasn’t sleep. That was death calling her, or at least the emptiness that came before it, the grey place that only another person could pull her out of.

Yingtai. Yingtai had been scared. Huan had pretended not to know what had happened, even though the story had probably made it around most of the clans’ back rooms at that point. Two years ago, now. Maybe more. It was hard to –

- _focus-_

The girl from the Ji clan. Biyu. Ranfan had looked the other way, smiled on Yingtai’s behalf, and then Yingtai had tried to kiss her. Biyu had hit her, and the sound in her voice had been-

_People are afraid._

_Afraid of what?_ Yingtai with a face like stone, never giving anything away.

_Afraid of change. Afraid of consequence. Afraid of punishment. You name it. There are many things to fear in this world, and it’s easy to make foolish choices because of it._

Ranfan blinked, clearing her eyes. Lust was still toying with the Colonel, wearing her down. Her uniform was hanging off of her, small cuts from his sword torturing her here and there – and all the flames in the world weren’t making a mark on him. She couldn’t pin him down, couldn’t look at him directly, and every time she tried to listen for him or watch for a shadow, he cut her before she could focus.

All of this. Over Yingtai –

No. Over _her._

Ranfan’s stomach roiled, and she forced the nausea away. She didn’t want to think about the damage to her body. Ling hadn’t so much as cut her. He’d used blunt force only, breaking her bones, slamming his fist and feet into her stomach, her back-

_-what are you missing?_

He was scared of her. He hadn’t cut her.

Ranfan wiped her face, and stared at the smear of blood on her hand. But the grey kept getting closer and closer. Even if she was right…

She glanced up at the Colonel, too busy protecting herself ( _and you)_ to listen to somebody’s broken mumbled Amestrian. She was out of time.

* * *

“Deal’s a deal, Colonel. Ask away.”

She’d gotten information out of him already. _Eight of them. His power._ “Why did you really leave Xing? All those years ago?”

He frowned. “I expected you to ask _why_ I’m immortal.” It was so petulant she had to laugh.

“If you get to pick the questions, then this game’s no fun at all.” She was managing to sound brave, but most of her mental energy was devoted to not passing out. He’d shrugged off every burn she’d managed to give him, and meanwhile, she was stinging from cuts all over her body. No serious injuries. He was a _dick_ like that. And that was without –

“Aw, are you not having fun?” He swooped in and brushed his lips over her cheek, and just narrowly avoided the fist she swung at his face. “You get so _mad,_ it’s _amazing!_ ”

“I don’t like kisses from strangers.”

“Funny,” he pouted, “the local gossip says otherwise.”

“I don’t like _uninvited_ kisses from strangers,” she amended. “And I’m certainly not in the mood. Are you going to answer or not?”

He stopped, staying – miraculously – in one spot for a while. She didn’t attack, though. Something was happening. His expression kept changing, an internal war taking place.

“Ling,” she ventured, and he started, raising the sword almost defensively and looking at her with… _fear,_ almost. Not quite. It was a lost, disoriented kind of look. Names had power. She hadn’t thought about it until now – that he had two, just like her. “How did you get here?” she asked, a little more softly.

“…Across the desert. Like everybody else,” he blustered.

“That’s not a real answer. Either we’re playing or we’re not.”

“Pla-“ He stopped himself. Diana wondered if he’d been about to ask _playing what?_ “The…” His eyes darted to Ranfan, the lost look all the worse. “The Sage.”

“I know that part of the story.”

“Hohenheim. He, uh –“ Ling lowered the sword, barely half an inch, and she stifled her response to the name Hohenheim, even though she wanted to scream, _what are you talking about?_ “I was supposed to get married.” He dragged a hand over his face. “It gets pretty irritating, actually, hearing all about how I was an _unfaithful son._ Do you have any idea what it’s like?”

“I don’t, no.”

“For our wedding night, they were going to _watch,_ ” Ling said bitterly. “And they invited me to their Council just so I could sit and listen to them make plans for my future. Heavenly Emperor my ass. My father lied to me.”

“You wanted power?”

“I wanted _control!_ I wanted –“ Ling’s brows furrowed. “I wanted _anything_ else. And when I told my family, they laughed at me. So of course I left. I’d be a king elsewhere. Rule people who understand what a king was _supposed_ to do. Answer to myself, not some group of doddering fools.”

“I can’t conjure up a lot of sympathy for you,” Diana admitted. “You ran away from being a prince because you weren’t worshipped enough?”

“Oh, I don’t care about _worship._ I care about holding the strings, not being the puppet at the end of them.”

“Again, not falling over with sympathy-“

The fist took her by surprise, crashing into her stomach so hard that she felt the wind knock out of her. She fell down onto one knee, seething when she realized the position she was in front of him.

“That’s alright. We have other ways of making you kneel.” His voice had changed again. Not a lot – just enough to be noticeable. And the pronoun-

“You’re two people,” she coughed, and got a kick in the head for her trouble. All she wanted was a drink. Maybe if she drank something, just one drink, she’d be able to get herself together – she’d be able to make the room stop spinning. She couldn’t help but mentally fill the amphitheater with people watching, feel their eyes on her. _Disappointing._

“Not normally,” he growled. “We have your awful little friend to thank for that one.”

“Ranfan? What did she do-?”

Lust began to laugh – and slammed a foot down on her hand, a crack echoing through the theater. She screamed. She couldn’t help it – she hadn’t been _prepared_ for it, and why wasn’t she prepared for, she should have _known –_

“Hmm. Don’t think I quite broke it. Still, those bruises will make snapping a little harder, don’t you think? And no, the little Yao bitch isn’t responsible. I was talking about your lieutenant.”

The blood ran cold in Diana’s veins. Jareth. Jareth, who hadn’t left his apartment in days, Jareth who nobody had seen, Jareth who she’d assumed was just – just – “What did – what –“

“What did I do to him? Ling wasn’t very happy with me. I tore out his stomach. He’s probably dead by now-“

Diana felt reality slide out of focus. Jareth. She hadn’t checked on him. She’d sent Sheska to do it, useless lovely Sheska, because she was –

-because she was, what, _angry?_ Depressed? Too proud to admit she needed his help?

“Aww, did that upset y-“

Reality clicked back into place. Diana reached up, grabbed Lust’s ankle, and yanked him down onto the stone ground. Before he could switch her attention again, she wrapped her hands around his neck.

“This won’t kill me any more than anything el-“ Her fist slammed into his cheek, with a wet ‘snap’ of something inside.

“No,” Diana seethed. “ _But I’ll feel better._ ”

She’d managed to knock the sword out of his grip – she dove for it, but his fingers sank into one of the open cuts she had, forcing it open, and she gasped, freezing up.

“You liked him, huh?” Back to the younger, almost-sweet voice. “So did I. He was nice. Real sweet.” Ling walked around her, picking up his sword and putting it over his shoulder-blades. With this voice, she could almost see the prince that had left all those years ago, in search of a better life, a different fortune, almost believe that he’d been a good person, once-

-and then Ling cocked his head, still smiling, still _him._ “It was either kill him or drive him to suicide. Either sounded fun.”

No. There might be two voices inside the body she was fighting, and she couldn’t say how much one had influenced the other. But they were _both_ monsters.

_Get up,_ she urged herself. _Get up._

 _They’re both gone,_ the quiet, hidden part of herself said. _Why?_

“Oy, oy, oy. Driving me to _suicide?_ ”

Diana opened her eyes, staring at the stone ground where her bruised hands lay.

“Gotta tell ya, Ling, better people than you have tried.”

She had been too occupied to watch the small door in the cavern side, the stairs up to the entrance no more accessible than Heaven itself when a monster like Lust stood in the way. But two figures were emerging from its shadows, the smaller heavily supporting the other. Sheska looked pale, streaked with blood and dust, her glasses askew. And Jareth –

Jareth had looked better. But he was _alive._ He was wearing one of his stupid vests, leather hanging open over his bare chest, which meant the terrible wound in his side was visible, the scorched skin around it red and glistening.

“You cauterized it,” Lust said, almost appreciatively. “You know, I’m impressed. But I’m pretty sure I _fucking killed you._ ”

“Try harder next time,” Jareth shot back. “If the shit I’ve been putting in my body the last month hasn’t been killing me then this sure won’t.”

Lust just snickered. “Oh come on. Jareth. Why are you _here?_ To die with your lady beloved? To avenge the wrongs I did to your little side fuck? You don’t even have a gun with you, and you already _know_ that doesn’t work.” His hand twitched a little at that, and Diana thought about what he’d said. Jareth was why he’d split back into two people. Something he’d done.

Jareth stood up straight, taking his weight off of Sheska. “The night Maes Hughes was killed, where were you?”

Diana stared up at Lust in dawning dread. But Lust just blew a childish raspberry. “In bed. With you.”

“I figured. Because, see,” Jareth wavered a little, pressing his hand to the injury and wincing. “I’m not fucking stupid. I looked at the phone records. And _Maes called me._ He called me that night. And I woke up the next morning and the phone was off the hook.”

Lust wasn’t smiling anymore. He was still _impressed –_ she could tell from the glint in his eyes – but he was no longer finding this entertaining, or a fun game. “And? What are you accusing me of?”

“You didn’t kill him. So who did?”

“Like I know-“

“ _Tell me._ ”

“Or what?” He rolled his eyes. “I just beat the shit out of your precious Colonel. I don’t care what they called you back in Ishval – the Shrike or the Falcon or whatever. Right _now,_ you’re an injured, booze-soaked mess. And I _made_ you that way,” he added with another smirk. “Do you know what the DTs are? Delirium tremens? And a month in bed means your muscles are in _sore_ need of practice – well, for something other than fucking the little homeless kid you brought home.”

She could see the little pink flush at the edge of Jareth’s ears, so she knew it was true. She had been right to be worried about him after all – she just hadn’t thought that somebody was right there, helping him along, _enabling_ him. Oblivion was tempting. And- she thought guiltily about the empty bottles hidden in her work desk. She had no room to talk.

“You really feel that confident, huh?” was all Jareth said.

“Why shouldn’t I? I caught a look at your back, too. If you’re an alchemist, you’re a piss poor excuse for one. Looks more like you’re _her_ little lab subject.”

Her turn to wince at that. But Jareth was still standing there, not moving.

“You saw that, huh?” he said. “The flame alchemy sigil.”

“Wasn’t sure what it was until I saw her gloves.”

“Heh.” Jareth smirked so barely that Diana had to look for the flash of a canine behind his lip. “Funny thing about fucking up somebody with an array on their goddamn back, Ling-“

Lust snarled, then swung his sword out, anger overtaking reason for a second – “Ling is _dead!_ He’s been dead for _centuries!_ ”

“-you should check if it works.”

The hand that he’d been keeping by his side suddenly rose, and in a split second, Diana saw the lighter -

The theater filled with light and noise, fire spiralling upwards. The smoke started to clear, and Jareth wiped his mouth. “Oops,” he said dryly. “Diana’s much _better_ at it.”

The blackened carcass crawled out of the flames, red sparks flicking all over his body as flesh regrew over exposed bone, boiled eyeballs returned to their homes, hair regrew from a charred head. “You should have stayed dead,” Lust rasped. “ _Both_ of you.”

Jareth immediately put a hand out towards Sheska, but Diana had a funny feeling he was talking about Ling. Two monsters, but clearly not in agreement.

She felt a tug on her tattered uniform jacket. “Ranfan,” she said in relief. “You’re awake.”

She nodded, then winced. “I…” She swore in low Xingese. “ _Xuè qì._ ”

“What?”

Ranfan said more, but Diana couldn’t pick up any of this – then started struggling to her feet, pointing at Lust and Jareth. One moment Jareth was staring at him, then he was backing up, looking around for him, even though…

Even though he was looking everywhere _except_ where Lust was.

“He has to focus on each person. It doesn’t – work on more than one person at once. You…” Diana tried to get up, looking at Ranfan with renewed respect. “You weren’t passed out. You were watching.”

She nodded, then said the word again.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand. But…” Diana glanced at Jareth, his lighter out, the jewelled colors of the array visible around the sides of his vest. “You need me to help distract Lust. Right?”

Ranfan nodded furiously. That was all she needed. Even if her feet kept wanting to come out from beneath her, she could do this. Because Jareth was _alive._ Jareth was alive, and he was _glorious._

Jareth clicked the lighter again, another burst of flame exploding through the theater and taking a few chunks of ancient masonry with it.

“Missed me!” Lust taunted. “If you can’t see me, you can’t _hit_ me-“

Diana snapped, fingers making an arc across her chest and a slice of flame cutting through the air. “But _I_ can.” Lust staggered backwards as the flame hit his chest, snarling at her. “Not bad for a mongrel, huh?” she couldn’t help adding.

“Don’t expect me to believe you can keep this up,” he snapped at her.

“Probably not. But I don’t think I’m going to have to.” She met Jareth’s eyes before looking back at where Lust had been. He’d disappeared – but then the lighter clicked and Lust shrieked as he went up in flames again. “You can only hide from one of us at once. Isn’t that right?”

“So I’ll just kill you both at once! Easy!”

Jareth snapped the lighter again, and the flames came up a little close to her, Lust’s scream of mixed fury and pain echoing in her ears. “Jareth, honey, we really need to work on your control,” she teased.

“I know,” he complained. “But it’s not like I can _practice._ ”

“At least your aim is good-“ There. Now that she could focus – footsteps behind her. She swung her elbow back, feeling Lust’s windpipe cave in. He let out a choking gasp, glaring at her while the healing kicked in.

“I’m a _sniper._ Aiming’s the _easy_ part.” He smirked, close to her now, close enough that she couldn’t help the surge of joy at seeing him again. “Imagine if I was short-sighted.”

“Don’t get smart with me. I’m still mad at you.”

“You spend half your life mad at me. I’m used to it. On your left.”

She spun, slamming her knee into Lust’s stomach. “Why do I feel like I’m carrying the hand-to-hand here?”

“Because I have a hole the size of a watermelon just under my ribcage. Stop bitching.”

Diana backed up in a hurry as Lust drew his sword and thrust at Jareth’s stomach – and snapped, a bolt of lightning-sharp fire hitting him in the back of the head. “See? _So_ much more effective than big, dumb explosions.”

“If I ever need to light a cigarette from a city block away I’ll give you a call,” Jareth grouched. Lust was between the two of them, still healing –

And Ranfan was on her feet, staggering towards him. Diana signalled Jareth to wait, but her fingers itched. She didn’t like this. She wasn’t sure what idea Ranfan had in mind – but as much as she was enjoying herself, _somehow,_ she knew that just killing Lust over and over again wasn’t working. He was three hundred years old; if that was all it took, he would have been dead a long time ago.

“You,” Lust seethed. He looked ready to thrust the sword into her stomach, but something – _something –_ stopped him. And instead, Ling dropped it. The clatter was so loud in the suddenly-silent cavern, sending echoes along the empty streets, up towards the high ceiling and among the colossal stalactites that hung down over them. “Don’t come any closer,” he said, but it was almost a plea.

A plea for what? Diana didn’t know.

* * *

Ling watched Ranfan come closer. The monster had retreated – whether by choice or by his own force, he didn’t know. Monster probably wasn’t a fair statement. He’d invited it in, swallowed it and given it a home, and the two of them had become one. And for that time, everything had been fine.

“Don’t come any closer,” he said, hating how it came out.

Ranfan ignored him – and then, pushed her lips against his. Her lips were surprisingly warm. And he couldn’t help it, creature of instinct that he’d always been. He kissed her back. Family or not, distant cousins, whatever it was. He wanted to own her, to rule over her like his birthright had been – but the chains that came with it had been too many.

Her hands raised to touch his cheeks. “A king is nothing without his people,” she whispered, in the formal Xingese nobody else in the room would understand. “You should have known that. And a people are lost without their king. Didn’t you know what you were doing to us when you left?”

“You were fine in the end.”

“Only because of Yao Fu. Only because _he_ knew what a ruler’s responsibilities should be – and that he wasn’t ready to fulfill them. And you –“

Ling couldn’t help the soft smirk. “The unfaithful prince. I know.”

He couldn’t move. Why couldn’t he move-?

Her hands. Her hands had been covered with blood. And there was more and more of it all the time. They fell from his cheeks, and he saw the deep slash in her wrist, the same arm that he’d broken, an arm she probably couldn’t even _feel_ anymore- The girl had gone and figured it out. Lust was screaming in the back of his head. But Ling…

He caught her, before she fell. He could move that much, still. “I’m not ready.”

“Nobody’s ever ready to grow up, Ling,” she replied. She was crying. Over him, or over her friend, the one dying above them?

“I guess not.” He still didn’t feel bad. He still didn’t regret it. Or, at least, he thought he didn’t. People were always trying to make him feel regret, guilt, doubt. That was why he’d run away. “Are you?”

Then he shoved her away. It was Jareth who set him aflame, this time; with his descendant’s blood dripping from him, a concrete reminder of who he’d been, a long time ago. He’d known from the start it was the only thing that could kill him.

Pride was right. He should have let it go.

Maybe he’d been ready after all.

* * *

Jareth’s breaths came hard and heavy as he watched Lust collapse onto the ground. He wasn’t sure if it had worked. But bit by bit, the long-preserved body of Yao Ling, runaway prince and figure of myth, began to collapse into dust. A red stone, the color of ruby and poppy, rolled out of the disintegrating ribcage and onto the hard floor – and only once the remains had vanished into the stale air did the Stone break, too.


	26. We Sink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: drowning, PTSD flashbacks, dysphoria, pedophilia joke (brief and cheeky, but still!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter but no less eventful – and somehow also still a bit of a breather after the last one. Although it depends on your perspective!
> 
> Song is by Of Monsters and Men.

~26~

_So please look away, don't look at me  
As we sink into the open sea  
We are the sleepers, we bite our tongues  
We set the fire and we let it burn_

_- **We Sink**_

“Alex is _here?_ He’s here?” Will knew he was grabbing Lyra’s arms too hard, but he couldn’t make himself let go. Hurting her seemed secondary to everything else.

Lyra managed to jerk herself out of his grip with a scowl. “ _Yes,_ and he needs our help, and you’re the alchemist hotshot, so get yourself together.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, I can do that.” He looked across the lake. The figure on the other bank was just far away enough that he couldn’t see them properly. Long, black hair. His back to the causeway, protecting it, _guarding_ it.

“That’s him?” he said, hearing his voice come from far away. “I didn’t –“

“Ugh. Yes, he isn’t in that stupid doll anymore.”

Will tried to make himself focus. He kept hearing all the promises he’d made to Alex over the years ringing in his ears. In the end, he’d gone and done it on his own. _That was good, right? Be happy for him. Happy. It’s a good thing-_

Then the black-haired figure crumpled to the ground, and a scream echoed across the lake. _Alex._ And suddenly the only thing he could see was the Gate –

- _WILL! HELP ME!-_

_-fingers just out of reach, he was so close, and then they’d crumbled away, whatever was left of Alex pulled into the open mouth-_

_-give him back please GIVE HIM BACK-_

He didn’t realize he was on the causeway until part of it sank slightly under his weight and he felt the lakewater on his feet. It wasn’t the most stable. But if he ran –

There she was. The one hurting him. He could see the smile on her face, wicked and cruel, even though she looked younger than him. Who cared? Sloth looked like a little girl.

_Will, be careful, please._ It was Selim. Will ignored him. _Please, I can’t –_

_Shut up._

_Really?_

He hadn’t meant to say that. But he couldn’t think past the static in his head, past what was in front in of him.

* * *

“Oh, look,” Dante said in the most unimpressed tone she could muster, “we’ve got a visitor.”

Alex tried to breathe through the pain, then lifted his head from the ground, hair falling away from his face. The causeway. It was still there – and sprinting across it was Will, his hair a shock of purple streaming behind him, the sparks of his transmutation glancing across his sleeve and a blade tearing free of his black sleeve.

_Will. Will’s going to save me,_ came the small voice that just wanted to go home. And the rest of him…

_I didn’t know. I didn’t know he was there. I didn’t know. I didn’t know._ He wasn’t ready to see him again, and he was-

He struggled to catch his breath, sitting up and looking at Dante through a curtain of inky-black bangs. Long hair was useful. Long hair meant you could hide your face – and _think._

_(can you? can you think right now? Can you do anything except react?)_

Dante wasn’t even the slightest bit worried, even after sending Sloth away. She could control him, or at least hurt him. How far did it go? Could she force him to fight Will? Who would _win?_ And Dante herself-

Will was a good alchemist. An amazing one. But he didn’t _know._ He didn’t know how old Dante actually was. He didn’t know that she could transmute without even touching her hands together. Did he even know it was Alex in here? He had to, right? He had to have seen Lyra-

_-so many questions-_

His head hurt, and it felt like time was slowing down, like he was moving through molasses-

(why does she want YOU, ALEX)

(why are you so important)

Too many voices. Too many thoughts. A dog on a leash. He’d watched Will live through that with the military. _You have the info, pull it together now before it’s too late-_

_-Envy. Envy can’t do alchemy. Envy told you as much. He can’t even touch the arrays._

_Homunculi can’t do alchemy._

_You can._

Alchemist on a leash. And she wasn’t going to get two.

He had to stay angry with Will. He had to keep Will away from her. _I can do it on my own. I have to. And I can. It’ll be okay._ His nerves were still crackling.

( _-little sister-)_

_(-if you wanted to die so badly-)_

_(he looked so small, two limbs torn off of him, curled up so tight, Alex in his hand watching Bradley carry him)_

_(do you want him dead that badly)_

He had to stay angry. It would keep him alive. It would keep them _both_ alive.

Alex touched his hands together, barely a brush – then stamped his foot against the ground. The transmutation burst out of him, tearing the causeway open from one end to the other. It was slow, because then Will had time to turn around. Will could see it coming. All he had to do was turn away.

_Turn back, idiot. I can handle it._

( _you’re why his arm is missing and you thought he didn’t love you enough)_

_(no that wasn’t it – it was – it was more complicated -)_

_(stay angry at him stay angry because admitting you were wrong is harder and you can’t you can’t YOU CAN’T)_

He turned his back. “Go home,” he whispered under his breath, even though all he wanted was for Will to take him by the hand and tell him it was going to be okay.

* * *

_Will, STOP-_

Alex’s foot slammed against the earth, and Will _felt_ it, the transmutation crackling along the causeway one delicate stone at a time. It wobbled underneath him, Mei and Fletcher’s alchemy only enough to turn lilypads into something stronger, not to pull pillars up from the lakebed (that was what _he_ would have done-)

Selim was pleading with him now. _Will, turn back, for god’s sakes, he’s warning you-_

“He’s being a stubborn _ass._ ” He could make it. He could make it, if he just ran a little faster – he could make that jump, he’d made longer ones –

The causeway was coming apart underneath him. One more. One more –

His foot cracked through the surface and into the water. And he was sinking, sinking, the view of Alex’s turned back the last thing he saw before he was staring up at the ripples of the lake’s surface, the white disc of the rising moon barely visible, his hand reaching up for it –

Somebody was above him. Selim. Even though he wasn’t really there, the water still moved his hair with its currents, bubbles leaving his mouth. “Will,” he mouthed. “Will, _please._ ”

It was cold. He could swim, usually – but when he clutched at the water with his metal hand, the water hissed through the joints, even when he had his fingers pressed together as tightly as he could.

Selim’s hand linked in with his, and he could feel the warmth in his palm, the heat of a Rizenbul evening still on his skin. But then his lungs were empty, and his vision went black, and Selim’s watching eyes followed him into the dark.

\----

YOU ARE LOST.

He didn’t usually remember these. He was vaguely aware that they happened; some sort of ticker in his head kept count of a number he then did his level best to forget. Perhaps he’d forget this one too.

Will stared up at the Gate with a lump in his throat that he couldn’t quite swallow away. “…Maybe. Fuck off.”

SWEARING WILL NOT IMPROVE THE SITUATION.

“No, but it does make me feel better.” Will took a few steps backwards. The thing still looked the same as it had before. Black gates made of something heavier than metal or stone, the inscriptions and symbols slightly raised from its surface. He wasn’t sure what the Gate looked like to other people – he’d never asked – but to him, the void was suffused in a golden, tempting glow. “…Why now? Did I drown myself by accident?”

NO.

“Okay, well, can you let me go?” he snarked. “I’m not in the mood for _casual chat_ for the thing that ripped me apart. Thanks.”

The Gate didn’t answer. Sometimes the Gatekeeper itself made an appearance. Sometimes it just spoke from behind the doors like this.

Will turned around – and his heart rose in his throat, half-nauseous, half-hopeful. It was Alex. Not the black-haired figure he’d seen on the edge of the lake. The Alex he _remembered._ He was sleeping, or something like that, with his legs crossed and nut-brown hair cascading down his shoulders, closed eyes directed firmly at –

Will blinked, looking it up and down. Another Gate. This one with different designs, different etchings, and made of something lighter in color. “…Is this what the Gate looks like to Alex?”

SOMETHING OF THE SORT.

“He’s got the body he wants now. He doesn’t need this one.” He didn’t mean to sound bitter, but it came out that way anyway. It had been _his_ job to do this right. But he’d fucked up, and Alex had found somebody else and-

INTERESTING.

“What?”

EVERYTHING YOU SAY IS FURY ABOUT YOUR OWN BODY. YOUR ACTIONS SPEAK DIFFERENTLY.

Not just in here, either. “Glad to know you’re spying on me,” Will muttered, drawing away from Alex’s Gate – but not quite turning away, either.

WHAT DO YOU WANT?

Will raised an eyebrow at the void. Truth hadn’t made a direct appearance. He wasn’t sure why. That smile was part of his nightmares, just as much as the Gate itself. “You my therapist now?”

WHAT DO YOU WANT?

“Stop asking me that.”

THEN ANSWER IT, BOY.

…Son of a bitch. That had been on purpose. Will kept his mouth stubbornly shut. He hid his reaction from everybody else in the world; the Gate wasn’t going to be the one to force it out of him.

THERE ARE NO SECRETS HERE.

“I don’t want to do this.”

YOU NEVER WILL.

Will turned back to his own Gate, fury boiling under his skin, and glared at the doors. “Listen, asshole. You already ruined our lives. You don’t get a say in how everything else turns out. You can snark at me about alchemy. Everything else is off-limits.”

…BOLD.

Will wanted to hit the doors, but instead, he found himself pulling at his arms, shrinking down into something small again. _Boy._

WHAT DO YOU WANT? TO LIVE? TO DIE? TO TRANSFORM INTO SOMETHING OTHER THAN YOU ARE?

“You’re the great spiritual deity here,” Will mumbled. “You tell me.”

YOU WOULD NOT ACCEPT THE ANSWERS.

“Probably not.”

_Boy._

Alex had taken off after what he wanted, to reject a body that had never been his. And Will was stuck with half a body, half of a skin that had never felt right to him, either. He couldn’t even let himself make the joke out loud, that he and Alex should have just switched places, because he’d made too much of a wreck of his own body to offer it to anybody else. Besides, he didn’t _mind_ his body. It was the rest of it.

He sat down in front of the Gate, and wondered if he was dead. He didn’t remember the other times he’d spoken with the Gate, but they had been… shorter, he thought.

WHAT DO YOU WANT?

He leaned back on his arms, half-smile crossing his face as he looked up at the thing that shadowed his steps, directed the course of his life even long after he’d crossed its threshold. “Wish I knew, buddy.”

And that was all – except, perhaps, for a sigh that could have been disappointed, and could have been relieved. Who it came from, Will didn’t know.

* * *

“Interesting choice,” Dante mused. She waited for Alex to get to his feet, an impressed smile on her face. “I suppose you thought he’d turn back when he had the chance.”

“Doesn’t matter to me either way.”

“Tell me, why did you stop him? Surely you must be missing him.”

Alex shook his head. “Are you kidding? Remember why I came here in the first place?”

“Very true. Hang onto that spite, Alex, it’ll serve you well. I take it you’ve learned your lesson then.”

He pulled a face. “I’m open to negotiations. Leave my friends alone. And Will-“

Dante sighed. “I suppose you’re going to ask me to keep him off-limits.”

“Yeah.” Alex twisted his face into a grin. “Because he’s mine. Only I get to kill him. Understood?”

Dante blinked, clearly surprised. Then she laughed – a _real,_ loud laugh. “I thought I was taking on some sweet, idealistic farm boy as an apprentice. Where did this come from? Don’t get me wrong. I’m quite enjoying it.”

“You weren’t wrong before. I’m tired of sharing the spotlight. And I’m not going to give up being _strong_ over some misdirection.”

“Misdirection. I like that word for it.” Dante nodded her head back up towards the house. “I’m sure you have questions. And without those three fools around we can focus on you.”

“Good.” Alex pulled a loose thread from his shirt, pulled his hair back and tied it into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. “I’ve clearly got a lot to learn.”

The touch of Dante’s hand on the back of his shoulder made him shudder. _Remember why you were mad at him,_ he reminded himself. With the right poke, the right nudge, it came welling up again – old hurts, old loss, the exhaustion of being second best, overlooked, something for Will to take care of or somebody to take care of Will instead of a person in his own right. He had plenty to be angry about.

It made the lying easier.

(And if some of him really did want to learn more, was just as entranced and impressed by Dante’s machinations as cruel as they were – nobody needed to know. There was nobody left to tell.)

* * *

Envy hadn’t been needed. He was okay with that. Sloth would probably be mad that he hadn’t intervened, but…

He stayed in the tree, watching and trying to push away the feeling in his chest. This was good. Alex knew what the terms of the deal were, now. That was a _good_ thing. And he hadn’t been lying. William Elric was the kind of hyperviolent monster the military spat out on a regular basis; the further Alex got from him, the happier he’d be.

He waited, wondering if one day, he’d hear the kind of response from the back of his head that his siblings talked about. Nothing. Just his own thoughts, circling around each other – and his eyes watching the lake, to see how long it would take for Will to surface.

“I see you didn’t see fit to help,” Sloth scoffed, appearing suddenly on the branch next to him. He didn’t respond. “…What’s the matter with you now?” She was trying to sound casual, but he knew what it was like when she was genuinely concerned about him.

“Oh, just…” He shrugged. “Usually when we have a new sibling, they _know_ they’re a new sibling.”

“That’s the kind of moral foundering I expect from Ed,” Sloth pouted. “Can’t you just enjoy it? Or, well –“ and she couldn’t help the little smirk, “I guess you already _did._ ”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, feeling his face go red. Of all the human reactions he _did_ have.

“Seriously, though,” she said, a little more softly. “You’re not usually the anxious one.”

Envy turned so his back was against the tree. Sloth was kicking her legs, watching him with one of her more sincere expressions. She was the youngest-looking of all of them – and the actual youngest, too, if you didn’t include Alex – which meant that if he didn’t know better, he would have taken the baby blue eyes and the blond hair at face value, thought that this was actually about his feelings.

“You just want more details.”

“….Okay, _yes._ I can want that and _also_ be concerned about you.” When Envy started snickering, she gave him a shove. “You are so mean!”

“No, you’re just sexually frustrated.”

“Maybe!” She crossed her arms sullenly. “It’s not _my_ fault I can’t get any. Even Lust isn’t into twelve year olds.”

“You’re still not getting details.”

She eyed him carefully as he hopped off the branch. Then she reappeared next to him – too lazy to make the actual jump, it appeared. “…You actually _like_ him-?”

Envy grabbed the front of Sloth’s dress, picking her up like a sack of potatoes, and offered her a sweet smile. “You get away with a lot because you’re small and bratty. Don’t push it.” Then he dropped her. He felt a little bad. It’d been a genuine question – but at least she’d stopped talking.


	27. The Saltwater Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: hospitals/medical, religion (particularly of the Catholic/Evangelical-Baptist type, but not heavy), mental illness/PTSD-related violence, ableism, self-destructiveness of… a weird kind that is hard to describe?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Jean’s full name is not canon from FMA; I’m just from Canada and couldn’t stop myself from at least one rural Quebec joke. My family’s at least partially Quebecois so I promise this is very much good-natured poking.
> 
> The physics in this SHOULD all be accurate; @viovayo provided me with the information! This is a mix of the general time-dependent Schrodinger equation, the Maxwell equations, and a reference to the second law of thermodynamics. (Which has come up a few times.)
> 
> People who have been anxious to know what's up with Will and Selim get.... half an answer! hahahaha sorry. 
> 
> Song by Owl City.

~27~

_When we're apart whatever are you thinking of?  
If this is what I call home why does it feel so alone?  
So tell me darling, do you wish we'd fall in love?  
All the time, all the time_

**_-The Saltwater Room_ **

Jean-Francois Antoine Bertin Havoc – who had only been allowed one middle name on his official military enrollment, and had cheerfully included _none_ of them – had grown up in a town called Joliette somewhere between Forcett and Rush Valley, known to the military mostly for being stubbornly religious despite Amestris’s laws concerning worship, and for being the town with the highest number of steepled buildings per capita. As far as Mama Rosalie Havoc was concerned, the two were unrelated. But either way, it meant that the seven sins weren’t a new concept to him. The religion he’d grown up with wasn’t Sveyati, but it was damn close – and it’d had devils, too.

That didn’t mean what the Colonel had told him was any easier to swallow. Nor was it the comfort that his mother had always sworn it would be eventually; even if he was getting anything from the rote prayer in the back of his head, it wasn’t enough to balance out the existential dread making his fingers shake.

_Focus,_ he told himself. He entered the room where the Colonel sat by the bedside, closing the door behind him with a little ‘click’. She didn’t seem to notice. She was too focused on Jareth, holding his hand in hers and pressing the knuckles to her lips.

Jareth wasn’t responding. He was deep asleep, morphine drip in his arm and bandages wrapped tightly around his chest as it rose and fell. Havoc had seen the injury underneath the bandages; it was a _mercy_ he was asleep. It was a wonder he’d been standing.

Havoc cleared his throat.

“I know you’re there, Jean.” She was the only one who said his name the way it was intended – almost like _John,_ with the little lilt at the end – although it was rare that she used his first name at all. “Just talk.”

“Private Thomas is getting treatment for shock a few rooms over.” He took a deep breath. “I recruited the two Zhus to get Ranfan and the other girl – er, Juliet? – to Dr. Knox’s. They’re recuperating there.”

“How are they doing?”

“Dr. Knox says they should survive, but beyond that, he didn’t sound hopeful. He said, um –“ Havoc’s courage failed him a little, and he mentally slapped himself. Not the time. “Ranfan may need her arm amputated.”

“Christ.”

“As for Juliet, the damage that monster did to her was… pretty severe. She hasn’t woken up properly yet. Dr. Knox says it might be a while still. But, um – you’ll be glad to know there’s no, uh –“

“No what, Havoc.”

“He didn’t assault her. Not like that.”

Solaris twitched a little at that, and seemed ready to snap at him, then thought better of it. “I suppose that’s something.”

“What about you?”

“What _about_ me?”

“Have you been looked at?”

She nodded stiffly. She was out of her uniform, at least, and in simple scrubs – he’d noticed that when he came in, but didn’t want to assume. “My hand will take a while to heal, but it’s mostly just bruised. The cuts… will be painful for a while. But again, nothing too deep.”

She kept staring at Jareth, and Havoc sighed, trying to decide what his role was. It wasn’t a _secret_ how much she loved Jareth, even if the two of them kept it under wraps outside of their squad.

He walked the rest of the way into the room, pulled up another chair on Jareth’s other side, and fiddled with a cigarette, rolling it across his fingers. “…I, uh, don’t really understand what happened down there. Don’t need to. But you know I’m with you to the end of the line.”

She didn’t respond. He was bad at this, but he had to try. “We _all_ are. There’s a reason we’re not gonna let you destroy yourself.”

“We?”

“You _know_ who. Me, Breda, Falman, Fuery. And maybe I haven’t been-“ he swallowed- “been around as long as Hughes was, or Valjean-“

“ _Don’t you dare._ ”

“But I’m still gonna support you. Like it or not.”

Solaris’s lips pursed into a white line. She looked angry, so much that Havoc could almost believe she _was._ But there were frustrated tears prickling at her eyes, too. “I almost got you and Ranfan killed,” she sighed. “Because I was _drinking._ ”

“Well, you didn’t.”

“Yeah. Because Jareth showed up.” The soft smile on her face helped – but it didn’t mean she wasn’t being cruel to herself.

“Shit happens. I mean, christ, I don’t think anybody expected to be fighting an… undead… mythological _thing._ Actually, can we hit pause for a second while you explain what that was? I’m still lost.”

She laughed, wiping delicately at her eyes. “Oh, I would, but then I’d have to kill you.”

“Very funny.” Then he paused. “You’re joking, right?”

She made a considering face.

“See, this is why you scare me.”

“More or less than the undying creature?”

“…Jury’s out.”

“I see why Jareth likes you so much,” she laughed softly. “Shame you’re straight.”

Havoc stifled the blush as much as he could. Oh. So Jareth had been _serious._ Funny how he’d just kind of assuming he was joking. It didn’t help that Solaris glanced up at him, realized what his reaction was, and was clearly struggling not to laugh at him _more._ “F-for the record, I’m _flattered-_ “

“Honey, you don’t have to justify yourself to me. Or anybody, for that matter.” Her lips quirked up into a smile. “Straight people are so _convinced_ that we want to convert everyone.”

“I don’t think that, I just, uh –“ Havoc rubbed the back of his neck, then glared at her. “You are being mean to me on _purpose._ ”

“Yes. It’s cheering me up _intensely._ ”

“I suppose I can’t complain.” He sighed and stood up, cracking his back. “Listen. He’s gonna be fine. But he’s not going to wake up faster if you’re here fretting over him like a mother hen.”

“You have a point. I just…” She fell silent.

“You’re worried if you take your eyes off of him, something will happen.”

“You’re being astute. Stop it. I had you pigeonholed as the dumb blonde and I’d like to go back to that pleasant existence.”

Havoc chuckled. He would have been offended, but it was true. “Come on. I’ve got a military car, we can swing by your apartment and get you some real clothes, and then you can come by my place for coffee.”

“Coffee?” She raised an thin eyebrow, and he turned red.

“ _Actual_ coffee. Just coffee. Normal coffee.”

“If you say so.” She got to her feet, giving Jareth one last long look before letting go of his hand. “…Before we go-“

Havoc smiled. “Huan and Bao – uh, I _think_ I’m saying those right – are on guard at Dr. Knox’s. And-“

Sander Armstrong saluted her with a stern face that didn’t quite hide the intense emotion in his blue eyes. Because of course.

“He’s got us covered here.”

“Good man,” she whispered – teasing, mostly, but with real thanks layered underneath.

* * *

(Do you want to know the Truth?)

(-the imaginary unit and planck's constant divided by 2 pi, times the time derivative of ket psi equals)

(Do you want to know the Truth?)

(equals the hamiltonian operator on ket psi)

(DO YOU WANT TO KNOW EVERYTHING?)

(div B equals zero, div E equals rho divided by epsilon nought -)

(have it)

(-model a system over time-)

(have it)

(-all systems evolve towards thermodynamic equilibrium over time and everything is part of the system all heat all air all energy-)

(will)

(you are made of cells that are made of molecules that are made of atoms that are made of electrons that are made of-)

“Will!”

His vision cleared. He was staring – up? Down? Definitely down – at a girl he vaguely recognized. Youswell. That was where he knew her from. Lyra, his brain supplied –

She was choking.

His hands were around her throat.

He was choking her.

The moment he realized what was happening, he unlocked his hands, tried to spring back – but he just collapsed to the side, trying to lever himself up. He was dry, he realized, although there was still some dampness in his hair. Wood floor. Carpet. He recognized it. Izumi’s house. Izumi’s house.

He’d been choking her.

“What is your _problem?_ ” It wasn’t Lyra who’d spoken. Will winced, and raised his eyes to the blond kid by the door, who – who _also_ looked hauntingly familiar.

“Lovely. I’m being haunted,” he mumbled, then winced _again_ when he realized he’d said it out loud. “Sorry. I’m – I wasn’t –“ He took a deep breath. “Are… you okay?”

“Of course she’s not okay!”

“Fletcher, I’m _fine._ I’m just startled.”

“But –“

_Fletcher._ Terrible day. Terrible. And that had been plant alchemy on the lake, hadn’t it – “Tringham. You’re Fletcher fucking Tringham, aren’t you?”

Fletcher immediately shrank away from him. Afraid. He was afraid. Lyra was, too. The brave front didn’t fool him. They were both afraid of him. They should be. Alex should be, too. It wasn’t their fault. He knew too much, he felt too much, he –

A slap across his face startled him back to… somewhere. “Wh- _ow!_ ”

“ _That’s_ for choking me,” Lyra retorted. “Now, Fletcher, shoo. I have to interrogate him.”

“In- _interrogate?!_ ”

Fletcher just nodded and scampered off. Lyra exhaled. “Sorry. He’s overprotective. And you _were_ choking me, so – a little deserved.”

“What was that about interrogating me?” Will asked hesitantly.

“Would you get up? That floor can’t be comfortable?”

“Oh. Uh. Okay.” Will got up, and Lyra shoved him onto the bed. “I don’t think I like where this is going-“

“Get over it, you big baby. I learned my lesson after last time.”

Will felt his face turn bright red when he realized where her brain had gone. “I didn’t mean that! Get your mind out of the gutter!”

“Says the half-naked boy.”

“I’m not-“ He looked down. “Oh. Cripes.”

“Are you _eighty?_ Who says _cripes?_ ” Lyra pointed to the pillow. “Lie down.”

“I – Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“God. Good to know you’re still a bitch.”

“And proudly so. I said I’d stop being a bad guy. I never promised an attitude adjustment – and besides, when _you’re_ the bar?” she added.

He didn’t have a whole lot to say to that. The inside of his mouth felt like he’d swallowed a salt shaker, and now that the burst of adrenaline was gone, the headache was starting to show up. As the room started to spin, he was suddenly really glad Lyra had made him lie down. “…Sorry,” he said again.

“It’s alright. I mean, it’s not. I’m pissed off. But you weren’t awake, so I’m pissed off at your subconscious.”

“…I don’t remember you being this understanding.”

“Oh, well…” Lyra’s face turned a little pink, and she put a hand to her cheek. “Alex is a good influence.”

Will accepted that for the moment, sadness settling on him. Alex. God. He didn’t know what-

Hold up.

_Hoooold_ up.

He sat up so fast that he nearly blacked out for a second. “ _What have you been doing with my brother._ ”

“Oh dear,” Lyra said quietly. “Uh – not that much –“

“Not that _much?_ He’s _fourteen!_ ”

“And I’m sixteen. What is your _point?_ ”

“He’s innocent!”

Lyra snickered, then stifled it hurriedly. “Um. Yes. Definitely –“

“ _I’m going to kill you-“_

“Oh, please. You’re just mad he’s getting more than you-“ Lyra ducked the pillow he threw at her, which smacked against the door. Two seconds later, the door slammed open with the force of a sandalled foot, and Izumi glared at both of them.

“You were SUPPOSED to make sure he was RESTING.”

“I-“

“OUT.”

“Yes ma’am,” Lyra said meekly and exited the room. Will opened his mouth-

“ _Quiet._ ”

“Yes ma’am.”

Izumi sighed and sat down in the chair next to the bed. “You look surprisingly healthy for somebody who wasn’t breathing.”

“I – wait, really?”

She chuckled, although there were dark bags under her eyes. There was always a _little_ bit of exhaustion in her face, but he’d never seen her this bad before. “You can snipe at that girl all you want, but she went right in after you, even though she’s not a very good swimmer.”

“That just sounds stupid.”

“She managed well enough to get you to the surface in time for Sig to pick you both up. He was on the way over from the mainland anyway.” She sighed. “But _you._ I _know_ you can swim.”

He swallowed guiltily. “I thought I could.” He could feel accusing eyes on the _back_ of his head, and a faint anger that wasn’t his. “I – um –“ He stared down at the hands in his lap. “I got used to being able to do most things. You know, I can still climb trees, I can still write, I can still – And the things I couldn’t do, I just _didn’t._ I just forgot.”

“Forgot that-“

“It’s not the weight,” he sighed. “I can’t swim with automail, because it’s not a big hunk of solid metal, it can’t push water around the right way. Selim works with stainless steel so as long as I dry it off right I should be okay for rust, but… I just… forgot.” He tried to swallow the lump away, but it wouldn’t move.

The anger in the back of his head subsided – not completely. But enough.

“You could have turned back,” Izumi said quietly.

“I wasn’t going to leave him there-“

“He was telling you to leave.”

“I know.” And he didn’t want to think too hard about that, because all of the other reasonable, rational, thought-through possibilities kept getting drowned out by the last things he and Alex had said to each other. He kept trying to look past it, remind himself of who Alex was every other time, of who he _knew_ Alex was, but it kept looming in front of him, blocking out the light and taunting him with its immovability. _You know him so well? Why did he tell you he thought you were faking it? Why did he tell you that he’s always been scared of you? If you know him so well WHY DIDN’T YOU KNOW IT WAS COMING-_

Izumi was quiet a little longer. Then she leaned forward, checking Will’s temperature with the back of her hand. “You’re breathing alright now?”

“Yeah. My mouth tastes like rotten fish, but that’s all.”

“I see.” She put two fingers to the side of his throat. “And your heart’s fine.” She looked up at him. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me, Will?”

He felt himself break into a cold sweat. “L-like what?”

“I called her,” came the quiet voice from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder. In the long, standing mirror in the corner, he could see Selim sitting on the edge of the pond by his house. He looked about as unimpressed as Will had expected. “I probably shouldn’t have.”

“Wait, you called-“

“Asking if you were okay.”

Will pressed his hand to his face. Great.

“Who are you talking to?” Izumi asked quietly. “Trisha?”

It would have been so easy to lie and say yes. That was the great thing about being crazy. When you already had voices in your head and had long conversations with your dead mother, you had an easy out for all the other insane shit that happened to you.

“Okay, first off, I want to be clear that I do have hallucinations other than my mom. I’m not that obsessed. She’s just the nicest one.”

Izumi raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll tell you about them sometime when I’m drunk and hate myself enough.”

Selim stifled a snort of laughter in the background. “You’re stalling.”

“Of _course_ I’m fucking stalling, Selim. Not my favourite topic in the world.”

Izumi looked like she’d been poleaxed. “Well, that’s one way to confirm it. Uh…” She rested her elbow on her knee, fingers over her mouth. “…I was expecting more vagueness. You two _talk?_ ”

Will’s face turned hot, and he wondered if he could get away with hiding under the blankets. He’d never actually had to talk to somebody else about it. He’d vaguely alluded to it to the Colonel, Hughes and Jareth, but that was before-

“Before it became a real thing?” Selim supplied.

“That works,” he grumbled. “Also, no chance you want to help?”

“Are you kidding?” Selim laughed. “I’m still _grounded._ I wouldn’t know how to tell Dad this if my life depended it. At least Izumi’s an alchemist. And that explanation she gave you in the train wasn’t half bad.”

“I’d be sympathetic, but you’re the one who ran away from home.” Will returned his attention to Izumi. “Uh. I have no idea where to start. But, uh, yeah, this is what I was asking you about on the train ride here.”

“I… see. So you and Selim are…” She made a wiggly gesture with her fingers. “Entangled.”

“That sounds dirty. I like it.”

“Oh god, please stop talking,” Will mumbled in horror, covering his face – then quickly split apart his fingers to clarify, “Not you. He’s giving running commentary. I’m not into it.”

“I’m bored, and also, it feels like if I let you out of my sight for two minutes, you’re going to, I don’t know, _drown yourself again._ But yes, I will quiet down.”

Will rolled his eyes, but it was a fair point – and all the worse, he could see Izumi struggling not to _laugh._ “I hate that you’re finding this funny.”

“I know I probably shouldn’t, but there’s something relentlessly charming about getting half of this conversation when I’ve heard who’s on the other side.”

“Oh right. The phone call.” Then Will brightened. “Which means you know I’m not making it up.”

Izumi smiled and gave a small nod. “…As much as that would make my life easier.” But then she frowned. “How _long_ has this been happening?”

That he couldn’t answer. “Um. The – the direct communication is new? But I’m not sure if we just didn’t know _how._ We kind of – we figured it out because Selim always knows how I’m feeling, and I _usually_ know how he’s feeling, I just don’t always catch it.”

“How he’s feeling?”

“You know. If somebody’s angry, happy, all that. I was never very good at that for other people, and you helped me a bit with it, but I never had any trouble with Selim.”

“That sounds _normal._ ”

“I mean, sure. But –“ Will realized the issue. “Izumi, I don’t mean when I was in Rizenbul. I mean _everywhere._ When I was here training. When I was in Central.”

She looked a little winded. “ _Oh._ ”

“Yeah. I didn’t think it was _that_ weird, but then…” He thought about when it had started getting stronger. “I guess after Lab 5 – we were breaking into an abandoned lab in Central, except it wasn’t abandoned-“

“-What on earth have you been _doing?_ ”

“-and after that, I started being able to see through his eyes sometimes? And vice versa, apparently.”

Izumi didn’t look so amused anymore. “And you never had that before?”

“Don’t think so. It gets a bit mixed up, though.” He offered a half-smile. “Hallucinating doesn’t h- _ow!_ ”

Izumi had punched him in the arm. Before he could complain or ask why, though, she was speaking to the air. “Selim, I assume you can hear me. Is there a bruise on your arm?”

Will rubbed his arm sullenly – but Selim wasn’t responding. He was sitting there, _refusing_ to. That was silly. Will looked away from the mirror and through Selim’s eyes, down to his arm. “Yeah, starting to come in already. And a big one too. What was _that_ for?”

“I was worried about that.”

“About _what?_ ”

Selim was still staying strangely quiet. Will looked back into the mirror – this should have been a lot more disorienting than it was – and realized that he’d curled up, knees up against his chin, chewing on his lip.

“Will,” Izumi started, then sighed. “Will, when souls are entangled, that’s not a _good_ thing. It’s not just a – a psychic link, like in the comics.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, suddenly nervous.

“Do either of you remember anybody odd coming around when you were children? An older woman, maybe? Someone who looked like the woman out there?”

“ _Definitely_ not. Izumi, please get to the point.”

“Humans are made of electricity and energy, as well as matter.” She ran a hand through her braids, stress showing in her jawline. “If the two of you were just _talking,_ this would be one thing. But your – life-energy, your souls, are linked. Like feeding off a single reservoir.”

“That…sounds bad.” He was following more than he wanted to admit, but he didn’t _want_ to.

“That energy, that electricity, is what we use to heal ourselves, to move, to think. You’re not just feeling and experiencing what the other does, you’re using each other to heal. You’re feeling each other’s pain, each other’s injuries. You weren’t _breathing_ when we pulled you out of the water, Will. And then, you were fine.”

Will couldn’t feel his hands, suddenly. How careless had he been with his body? How much had he thrown himself around, taken blows he could have avoided?

_How many times had he hurt himself on purpose?_

“You’re wrong,” he tried to claim. But in the Lab, he’d _felt_ that something was wrong with Selim, hadn’t he? Selim had been knocked out.

And Selim wasn’t saying anything. Because –

_Because I knew,_ Selim admitted, guilt obvious even in the internal version of his voice. _I’m sorry. I kept trying to figure out how to –_

_Why didn’t you fucking TELL ME?_

_Because it was fine! I was at home all the time and then I was at boarding school – it wasn’t like I was anywhere dangerous, and clearly you were, and –_ Selim’s emotions were usually so quiet, but this time they were crashing into Will like waves, and it was – god, was this what Will’s emotions felt like for Selim all the time? – _I just didn’t think it was a big deal!_

Will felt nauseous. “So this isn’t –“ He couldn’t put the words to it.

“It’s not something that happens by chance. And it’s not something that’s _supposed_ to happen.”

“So how did you know?”

“I – know the theory. There’s a lot of theories of mine being proven right at the moment, none of them ones I wanted proven.”

“Like what?”

Izumi pulled her shawl around herself. “Like what happened to my mother.” She got to her feet. “If you’re feeling well enough, come on out to the living room. There’s lots to talk about.”

Will was tempted to refuse. He had plenty to process as it was –

-but a smaller, saner part of him knew that as much as he wanted to talk to Selim, scream at him from hiding this from him, lose his head and drive him off, it wasn’t going to work, and it wasn’t going to help. Besides…

Will got to his feet, sneaking one last glance at the mirror. It was empty, and just gave him his reflection; Selim had run off. But right along with the anger and the – _humiliation,_ almost – He was alive because of Selim. How many times over, he couldn’t count. And Selim had never asked for anything in return. He’d just done it in the darkness and hoped it helped, and never said a word.

_I’m so fucking pissed at you, and I might be in love with you,_ he thought – then realized in horror that Selim might have heard it and tore himself away.

* * *

Diana did not want coffee. She wanted something much, _much_ stronger, but she had to admit, the coffee Havoc had on hand was _nice._

“This is actual coffee,” she said with a moan of delight. “How on earth do you _afford_ this?”

“Special deal with Rizzoli on the ground floor. He lets me have it for half price because I look like his cousin or something. Actually, I think he might be trying to set me up with his daughter.”

“Aww,” she teased. “Why not go for it?”

“Well, for one, she lives back in Aerugo. I’m not opposed to a pen-pal romance in concept, but I’m bad enough at Amestrian without adding another language to the mix.”

Diana snickered despite herself. “So who’s in your sights these days, ladykiller.”

“You’re so _mean._ For your information, I had a lovely date the other day.”

“Really? Who with?”

He deflated a little. “…Catalina,” he grumbled. “Who still doesn’t do monogamy. I blame _you_ for that.”

She clasped a hand to her chest in mock offense, pulling her feet up on her end of Havoc’s comfortable (if somewhat ancient and beaten) couch. His place was nicer than she’d thought it would be – still obviously a little pulled together, one bedroom without a door branching off a main combined kitchen and living room, much like hers, but with a surprising amount of art on the walls and a line of statuettes along the mantelpiece. “It’s not my fault she liked the idea! And that was a one-time thing.”

“I _still_ blame you,” he grouched, although obviously good-naturedly. “Here I am, a single man trying to go steady and get married one day, and you’re out here encouraging all my prospects to have as many partners as they want and sleep with other women. Which, by the way, would not be so annoying if you’d let me watch,” Havoc added cheekily, to which Diana kicked him in the shoulder.

“In your dreams, Havoc. And I could have you drawn up for insubordination for that.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Not in a million years,” she admitted. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Ah, _there_ was the little red flush at the tip of his ears. He was so predictable. And-

And she was being very, _very_ risky. There was a reason she’d never been to Havoc’s apartment before. She sipped her coffee, suddenly very glad that she could usually control her reactions to a degree. And that she hadn’t brought any alcohol with her.

“You’ve gotten some sleep, right?”

“Hm?” She blinked, startled back to reality. “Oh. Yes, a bit at the hospital.”

“Good. I wanted to make sure _before_ you pumped yourself full of coffee.”

She squinted at him. “You’re fussing over me.”

“Somebody’s gotta.”

“I’m _perfectly_ capable of fussing over myself, Havoc.”

He leaned back against the couch, arm flung over the back. He still had most of his uniform on, but he’d taken the jacket off, leaving him in the black tank-top, and Diana reminded herself not to stare. Jareth was one thing. Once you were screwing your brother, the fraternization rule really didn’t matter. But Havoc actually _was_ her subordinate, and she had a reputation to worry about on top of it. Being a slut was fine. Being the slut who fucked her loyal men was a whole other bag of issues.

…She’d had a _really_ hard week, though.

She thought for a moment Havoc was going to lecture her or be all worried at her again. She’d gotten a lot of that lately. But instead he asked, “So how does the thing with… you and the Lieutenant work anyway? Been an open secret for years, but now I’m curious.”

“I – um –“

“If you don’t want to, it’s fine. But you’re gonna stress about him anyway, right?”

She scowled at Havoc. “How much younger are you than me again?”

“Two years, so don’t start with that.” He was laughing at her – not out loud, but she could see it in his eyebrows. Fucker. “And isn’t there a rule somewhere that we can stop caring once we hit twenty-five?”

“Something like that.” She fiddled with her mug, trying to loosen up. It was a completely normal question. She didn’t have to be this _stressed._ “Uh, we’re – together, I guess?”

“Girlfriend/boyfriend?”

“ _Blech._ I hate those words. I’m not some middle schooler waiting for her date.”

Havoc snorted. “Noted. You’re not secretly married, are you?”

“Oh, _jesus,_ no.”

He pumped his fist. “Excellent. Falman loses that bet.”

“You were _betting?_ ”

“Of course we were! What do you take us for?”

Diana rolled her eyes. “It’s not that se-“ Then she stopped herself. _Serious,_ she’d been about to say. But Jareth was the most important person in her life. Why was that so hard to say?

_Because you know somebody will use it against you. Because you have to hide it. Because the less you feel, the less you show, the better._

She cleared her throat. “We can date whoever else we want, though. And other people we see, if it’s more than a one-time thing, know about us. So Sheska knows I’m – well – _around._ Just not the details unless she asks.”

“Do you ever get jealous? I always wonder, you know – the whole poly thing. Open relationship, whatever it is.” Havoc shrugged. “I’m a one-woman man. Or, uh, I’d _like_ to be. I can’t imagine being okay with my partner fuckin’ around.”

She smiled a little. “A little, sometimes. I don’t know. Sex isn’t a big deal to me. It’s _fun,_ and it’s something you do with somebody you trust. But it doesn’t have to be a promise, or a vow, or anything like that. As long as you’re doing it safely, it’s something to enjoy, not something to avoid. Same thing with relationships. If my partner’s happy, I’m happy. I mostly get jealous if I’m not…” She faded out a little, then shrugged. “It works out.” She glanced up to realize that Havoc looked a little nonplussed. “What?”

“Oh, just-“ He chuckled. “Man, you’re the only woman I know who talks about sex like that. Catalina _kind_ of, but she’s still – you know. She wants to get married _eventually,_ and gets worried about having kids out of wedlock, stuff like that.”

Diana found herself flushing with embarrassment. She forgot, sometimes, that the way she went about things wasn’t normal. “Yes, well, marriage is very much _not_ in the cards for me.”

“I figured, but even just…” Havoc’s eyes were fixed on hers – when they weren’t glancing down at her lips. “It’s _cool._ It’s a different way of looking at things.”

“One that scares you.”

“It doesn’t _scare_ me. I just have absolutely no idea what I’d do with it.”

_You should show him!_ The little voice in her head suggested, and Diana mentally tried to throw it out of the window. “I – um –“ Changing the subject. She was going to change the subject before she –

Havoc’s lips pressed against hers, warm and soft. Then he pulled away, flush spreading across his freckled cheeks. “…Damn it. I can’t even blame that on being drunk. Uh, that’s a thank you for saving my life-?”

“Save it, Jean.” She grabbed his shirt and pulled him back in.


	28. Childhood's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: anger issues, abuse, gaslighting (HOO BOY), absolutely hideous emotional manipulation, dysphoria, parental abuse trauma, captivity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The headcanon that comes up in this chapter is one I first used in my fanfiction SPARK, which you can read over here (https://archiveofourown.org/works/8538589/chapters/19575574) – it’s not otherwise linked to this AU, but you can see a lot of my Izumi and Dante concepts coming up in it.
> 
> Tsetserleg is one of the Southlands which I’ve talked about in prior author’s notes; much like Amestris is kind-of-not-quite Germany, it’s kind-of-not-quite Mongolia, which means Izumi isn’t Xingese, like the common headcanon goes. Tsetserleg is much closer to Amestris than Xing, and very rural still – there’s one or two major cities, but most Tsetserchuul are still nomadic. Tsetserleg means ‘garden’ and is actually a city in our Mongolia; Tsetserchuul… should translate to ‘people of Tsetser’ but Mongolian is trickier than I planned on it being. Also, the Tsetserleg language in this universe is not written in Cyrillic, because they aren’t anywhere near Drachma – like IRL Mongolian, it’s been written in a number of scripts, including the Kumari Kandam script (Tamil) and Xingese (Chinese), but they’re still largely using their traditional writing.
> 
> Song is by Pink Floyd (yes, really! not one of their well known ones)

~28~

_You shout in your sleep  
perhaps the price is just too steep  
is your conscience at rest if once put to the test?_

_- **Childhood’s End**_

Alex didn’t have anger issues. That was Will’s thing; while training with Izumi, Will was the one who’d been taught how to funnel his anger into productive things like chopping wood and slicing meat (never martial arts practice; Izumi had made it clear that while she wasn’t perfect at it, there was a difference between hitting somebody as an agreed-upon punishment and taking your anger out _on_ somebody. And she was better than she claimed – while Izumi would smack them sometimes, it was always a consequence, with limits and boundaries. It never came out of nowhere.) Alex – Izumi had trained Alex in different things. Awareness, mostly. How to see both what was coming in your peripheral vision and what was happening in front of you. What was under your feet and above your head at the same time. Holding everything that was around you in your head _before_ you decided to act.

Well, he was trying to do that now. _I can’t leave, because Dante won’t let me. If I try, I’ll be tortured. I can’t reach out to Will, even if he’ll hear me. I have no friends left here. I got myself into this. I got myself into this. I got myself into this._

The room was empty. There were still a few of Lyra and Mei’s possessions strewn about the room, things they hadn’t been able to pack. He picked up a stray shoe –

-and thought about Lyra’s questioning, confused, _scared_ face.

He threw it at the wall. Not enough. He grabbed the post of the bed, tore it free – he didn’t expect it would budge, but it did, with a splinter of wood. It had hardly even felt like anything.

_I got myself into this._

_I got myself into this._

He ripped the sheets into shreds, he shattered the boxsprings underneath, he splintered the planks and the carved feet of the beds and left cobwebbing cracks in the plaster walls. It felt _good._ It felt good, until there was nothing left to break.

Alex sat down in the destroyed room, pressed his hands to his face and tried not to cry. _Come on. You’re a man. Toughen up and deal with it –_

Will probably really did think Alex hated him.

Alex buried his face into his knees with a strangled sob. He wanted to go _home._ He’d even take his awful girl’s body back if it meant he wasn’t stuck here.

“Oh _dear,_ ” came the quiet noise from the door.

He jerked his head upwards, blinking away his tears – then with another surge of rage, flung a broken post at Sloth, who yelped and dodged. “That’s _rude._ I was just checking on you.”

“Why? You haven’t done enough to ruin my life today?”

“That’s a little strong, don’t you th-“

Alex sprang towards her, slamming his hands against the plaster when she disappeared in another flash of white light.

“Alex, _please._ You’re fast, but I am _very_ hard to catch,” she said from behind him. “Dante wants to see you.”

“She can-“

Sloth gave him a frustrated look that made him swallow the rest. Then she sighed, rubbing her temple. “I don’t know what Envy told you, but you can’t fight Dante on things and not expect _something_ to happen.”

“What do you recommend? Letting her kill my friends?”

“Only one person was in danger before you idiots intervened. And…” she shrugged helplessly. “Stuff happens.”

” _Stuff happens?_ ”

“You were with the military before this. You’re going to cry over one casualty?”

Alex tried to come up with a response to that. He couldn’t even complain that _he’d_ never killed people. He’d shattered the Slicer’s blood seal. And Will wasn’t the only one who’d done what he had to – it just didn’t happen as _often_ for Alex. He didn’t kill people _most_ of the time. Just…

“That’s what I thought. Come on, you. The longer I keep her waiting, the longer I’m away from my tunnels, and I don’t trust my clones to work on their own for longer than an hour, minimum.”

Alex followed her, grudgingly. His hands kind of hurt from destroying the room, and he felt kind of stupid about it now. It wasn’t like it had fixed anything. “Your clones – they’re autonomous?”

“Auto- oh, that word. You _alchemy nerds,_ I _swear._ They can do stuff on their own to a point, but the more I make, the stupider they get. I can switch which one I’m with whenever I want, and blinking them out is easy-peasy, but leaving them on their own is risky sometimes. _Digging_ is easy enough, but if they hit a pipe or something, then I’m out of here.”

“So that’s how you zip around.”

Sloth beamed at that. “Sure is. I can only create a new clone as long as I’m… oh, I forget the exact distance. I have to be close enough to another clone. But lucky me, there’s copies of me all over Amestris.”

“All over-“ Alex suddenly felt a little dizzy. “Sloth, how many copies of you are there?”

“Hm? At the moment? About two hundred. So they are dumb as _rocks._ And I chow down on elixir like you would not believe. It’s cool though, huh?”

It _was,_ he admitted grudgingly. He was still pissed at her for the tackle, though, so he wasn’t about to admit it.

…he couldn’t help it. “Where does the extra mass come from? I mean, do you increase or decrease in density when you don’t have any of them active, or-“

Her hand met her face with a resounding slap. “Oh, god. You are _just_ as bad as Pride.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“Not a single question about the mechanical or practical applications of creating several disposable human bodies, _no,_ you’re worried about the physics. I can summon enough clones to lift a car! I don’t care about my density!” She paused. “Also, to take apart a car. That’s always fun.”

“Why are you taking apart cars?”

“To figure out how they _work,_ duh.”

Somebody cleared their throat behind them. “If you two are _quite_ done?”

Alex flinched, but Sloth didn’t seem concerned. “Master,” she said cheerfully.

Dante sighed, patting Sloth on the head in a bizarrely maternal gesture that didn’t quite fit now that they were the same height. “Make sure we don’t have any more collapses, dear.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Sloth vanished in a burst of white light.

Dante turned to Alex, who shifted uncomfortably. She’d disposed of Mei’s robe, replacing it with a slim purple dress with a high white collar, high-heeled ladies’ boots peeking out from underneath the hem. It made her look much taller than she really was, and the heels brought her almost to eye-level with Alex anyway. The most disorienting part, however, was that she’d combed out Mei’s braids, and pinned the long fall of black, crimped hair to the side with a scarlet amaryllis. It was _almost_ his friend. But it wasn’t.

“You needn’t look so uncomfortable, Alex,” she said, almost warmly. “Come in.”

It was the same office he’d been in before. The same bookshelves lining the walls, the same desk of ancient wood. And as Dante settled in her seat behind it, he could almost pretend it was the same face looking over at him. But he couldn’t change that his own perspective had changed, in more ways than one.

“Come over here for a moment.”

He hesitated, and she almost rolled her eyes, lips pursing. “I’m not going to hurt you, Alex. I want to make sure everything’s working fine.”

“You hurt me pretty badly down at the lake.”

“Don’t be petulant. It doesn’t suit you.”

Alex came over to her side of the desk, and forced himself not to pull away when she took his arms in her hands, looking him over, checking for… something.

“Oh, good. I was a little worried.”

“Worried? About what? Damaged goods?”

She sighed, sitting back a little. “Do you think I _liked_ hurting you?”

“I kind of got that impression, yeah.” He _was_ being a little petulant, but he’d earned it. Already the pain was a distant memory – but not one that was going to go away. The feeling of being trapped… _that_ was what stung.

She made a thoughtful noise in the back of her throat. “Sit down. Pull up that one, I don’t want this old thing between us. Makes it hard to think.”

Alex pulled up the stool, his nerves still wound too tight to breathe properly. He’d expected a lecture, or more torture. Not this.

“Did you know I have a daughter?” she said finally.

“A _daughter?_ Really?” He hesitated. “Is it…”

She laughed quietly. “It’s not Sloth, no. Although I do love her, for all of her quirks. She _is_ a bit of an ankle-biter, isn’t she? No, no. Izumi.”

Alex felt something stick in his throat. Different Izumi. Right? Except –

Except wasn’t it _strange,_ how Dante’s mansion was right next to Dublith? And…

“…Envy sounded a little strangled when I mentioned that I’d trained with her,” Alex mumbled, his voice coming from very far away.

“Envy and Pride in particular _don’t_ get along with my daughter. Or rather, she doesn’t get along with them. Not that she’s the most charismatic girl in existence,” Dante added wryly. “I kept trying to find her a husband and then next thing I know she spends a month in the Briggs mountains to spite me, comes back and marries a butcher.”

“That…sounds like her, actually.” And it was starting to come together now. Dante had sent Fletcher and Mei off with medicine for Izumi and said it was for her _student,_ but why hadn’t she gone herself? And the way Izumi had looked when she opened the door, just as happy that Dante wasn’t there… Alex had been watching from the roof, but he’d seen that much. And Izumi had never mentioned her mother. _Ever._ “You two had a fight.”

“Several, over a period of years. Mostly over my work. I respect that she wants to keep her distance from it. But I raised her much like, I sense, she raised you.”

“You don’t know anything about how-“

“Punishment as consequence – but with limits, with boundaries, and never out of nowhere.” Dante smiled as she watched the expression on his face. “I confess, I should have told you about the restrictions on your body. I suppose I wanted to let you enjoy it a little longer – and I didn’t think it’d be _necessary._ I thought more normal punishments would be sufficient for a while.”

Alex almost – _almost_ – accepted it, unthinkingly. Then – “No. You still punished me for defending my friends.”

“I punished you for going against me.”

“Yeah, by _protecting my friends._ ”

“Disobedience is what it is.” But she was smiling slightly, watching him with a strange respect. “And somebody willing to challenge their master on a punishment they can’t avoid is somebody either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.”

Alex almost bit his tongue in horror. He hadn’t really _thought_ that far. But if he had… he probably would have said the same thing. Because he was stupid, apparently.

“I mentioned Izumi in part to explain that she and I may have our differences, but we have the same… ethos, I suppose, around punishment. I also mention her because, rightfully enough, you’ve lost a lot of trust in me.”

“You’re wearing a stolen face and apologizing that I don’t _trust_ you?” Alex said skeptically. So much of him wanted to spring forward and attack her –

-but some of him wondered if he could give Mei her body back.

“Yes, this wasn’t quite the desired result. I overreached, thought I understood Chang’s alchemy enough with a simple explanation, but it appears it’s a little more complex than that.” Dante actually managed to look a little embarrassed. “Ethically, the intended result probably isn’t up to your standards either. But my work is important and I don’t have any successor I trust enough to hand it off to.”

“Hold on –“ Alex cycled what she was saying over in her head. He kept _feeling_ like he was being manipulated. But it… made more sense. Almost. “You weren’t _trying_ to take her body?”

“Alex, I’m a grown woman. Why on earth would I _want_ to be fourteen again? Offer me a twenty-five year old version of myself and then we’ll talk,” she said teasingly.

“But you said –“ he tried to recall exactly what she’d said. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Hadn’t she _said_ she’d done it on purpose? More or less? Everything had blurred into a panic.

“You’ll have to specify, Alex.”

“She’s the heir to the throne.”

“Not _particularly._ She and forty-nine other hopefuls. Or something of that number. I was hoping to forge some diplomatic ties with Xing, though.”

_That’s not what you said._ He thought. Maybe. Did he trust his memory enough?

“Certainly being shoved into a body that isn’t mine made me a little more aggressive than I planned on. I’m sorry. I could have handled that _much_ better, and now I’m not sure if I’ll be able to reach Chang and the others. However, if they go to the military –“

Alex didn’t think they would, but… but Will had been there. And if Dante was doing the kind of insurgent work she’d described, killing potential threats was… well.

_You were with the military and you’re gonna cry over one casualty?_ Sloth wasn’t _wrong._

“I’m – I’m not sure Will counts. He’s not exactly pro-Amestris.”

“From everything both you and Pride have told me, he’s certainly not anti-Amestris, either,” Dante said, a little more coldly. “And I’m surprised you’d defend him.”

“I’m not _defending_ him. I just-“ But Alex gave up. It was a good point. Will wasn’t pro- _anything._ Will was pro-whoever helped him with his goals. Which was – sort of fucked up if you thought about it for too long.

_About as fucked up as siding with people because they promised you a new body?_

“I think I might have overreacted when I came here,” he said quietly.

“Don’t do that to yourself. You’re thinking that now because you’ve been away from him a while. All the problems are still there – you’re just remembering the good parts more.” Dante was sounding almost sweet again. It was confusing him, and he _hated_ it, because he’d almost had a straight path in his head, and he wanted to claim she was a liar, but he couldn’t quite make his head settle on it, because whether or not it was selfish for him to want his body, he felt so much _better_ in this one. He owed her. If he got mad at her for using pain as punishment, he had to hate Izumi as well.

“I – I guess. I don’t think he’s irredeemable, I just…” He sighed. He’d come in here knowing which direction was up. So much for that.

“I understand. We give the ones we love more chances than they deserve.”

…Yeah, _that_ sounded right. And one way or another, Alex had stopped Will from intervening. They could work it all out later.

But his memory of the switch still didn’t line up with what she was saying.

“I do want to make sure of something,” she said after a moment. “Physically, you look fine. And I don’t predict any _major_ side effects. That said, soul-binding is a tricky thing. Your body is one thing – you’re hale and hearty. But your mind and your soul is still suffering.”

“Suffering?”

“You can’t possibly think that all those years in a doll alone, with a monster like Will as your only company, left you unharmed.”

_Stop calling Will a monster,_ he wanted to hiss in response. But – was that what she _meant?_ Most people were scared of Will, and had perfectly good reason to be. “He saved my life. He’s my brother.”

“A single act of kindness doesn’t clean his slate of all the cruelties he’s responsible for.”

_A single act of kindness._ Was that all it was? How did it weigh against the rest of Will’s life?

“Just let me know if you feel like you might be having strange reactions to things, Alex. Fits of rage, false memories, intrusive thoughts… It isn’t anything to worry about. It’s normal, in situations like this. But please, _do_ be honest with me.”

The destroyed bedroom. The way he’d felt talking to Fletcher. The fact that his memory and Dante’s story didn’t line up – and there was no one else to ask, was there? They were all _gone –_

But some other force - the same force, perhaps, that had kept him guarding the causeway to let his friends get away – kept his mouth closed, until he could safely put on a small smile and say, only, “I’ll let you know.”

Dante leaned forward and stroked her fingers across his cheek, maybe a little too long, leaning maybe a little too close. “I’m glad.”

* * *

Will had disappeared into the bathroom before joining the others in Izumi’s living room, and he leaned across the sink, scowling at his reflection. His hair looked like crap, but that’s what he got for taking an unplanned dip in the lake. Lucky for him it wasn’t saltwater. The rest of him –

Well, okay, the rest of him looked like crap, too. He’d stayed mostly clean on the island, but there were bags under his eyes, and now that Izumi had pointed it out, he could _tell_ he wasn’t eating enough. His face was just a little too far on the edge of ‘skeletal’, and sure, he always looked a little like that, but when _he_ was starting to be unnerved by it –

Then what Izumi had said echoed back to him. _You’re pulling from the same reservoir._

Fuck. He _really_ had to eat.

He scrubbed at his face with a cloth, but it didn’t really help. So instead he tried to do something with his hair, fingers fumbling as he tried to put in the braids Selim had done, but he couldn’t get them fine enough to look good, not with his automail – so he yanked his hand free, feeling worse than before.

_Come on, Will. What’s the real problem?_ Not Selim, just his own mental voice. At least he could humiliate himself in private.

The problem was, he didn’t know. Nothing looked right. And he felt vain for caring, because guys were not supposed to care this much, but he knew he _could_ look right. He just – couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Voices from the other side of the door crept in, and he realized it was from the kitchen. “-can’t do this, Sig, I _can’t._ ”

“You’ll be fine.”

“I know it’s not her, but what if it _is,_ and this is another of her tricks? And I feel awful even thinking that but…” Izumi was _crying,_ he realized, or at least so close to it that he could hear it in her voice. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard that before. “The alternative is so much worse. Isn’t it bad enough that she wrecked _my_ life?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she sighed. “And thank you. I _absolutely_ could not do this without you. Just – please make sure I don’t freak out on that poor girl.”

Poor girl? He remembered an old lady, unless they meant Lyra. And he couldn’t imagine calling Lyra a “poor girl” unless they were insulting her fashion taste.

Okay, that wasn’t fair. He _really_ wanted her boots.

Will waited for Izumi and Sig to pass the bathroom door, then snuck back out, hoping Izumi wouldn’t realize he’d overheard. Then he stole his favourite armchair, noting how the other three were next to each other on the couch, and draped himself across it, sinking into the middle with a satisfied sigh.

_Is it okay if I listen in?_ Selim asked timidly.

_Of course it is, nerd. I have a feeling this concerns you, too._ Will paused, then added, with no shortage of sarcasm, _When did you start asking?_

 _I haven’t exactly been honest, I figured I should start._ He sounded miserable. Will wanted, more than anything, to scritch the back of his head the way he was used to. It was such a habit that he almost lifted his hand to do it. The little warm glow he got in response, though, meant the gesture still came across.

Izumi took a deep breath, sitting down in her own chair with Sig standing protectively behind her. She was, Will realized, conspicuously not looking at the old lady sitting between Fletcher and Lyra. “…You three were studying with Dante.”

“Four,” Lyra corrected, somewhat peevishly. “Alex was as well.”

“Alex. When did he join you?”

“We all showed up around the same time, two months ago.” Fletcher sounded – not nervous, exactly. Wary. For somebody who looked so small and guileless, there was a guarded nature to him that Will appreciated.

“And who are each of you? We might as well do introductions.” Izumi glanced over at Will, and with an annoyed huff, he realized she wanted _him_ to start.

“Am I not recognizable enough?”

“You did change your hair,” Lyra retorted.

“Is that really all it takes? Fine. Major William Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, if you call me Fullmetal or Major I will probably knife you because I am not in the mood.” He flopped his head back over the armchair – then raised it again in confusion at a squeak of horror that had come from – the old lady?

The old lady had her hands to her mouth in clear surprise, and she was turning bright red, eyes fixed on him. Fletcher was stifling a snicker, and Lyra just deadpanned, “Oops.”

“B-but… you said…”

“Mei, hon, I _really_ thought it was gonna come out before this. Seriously, you didn’t pick up a _single_ newspaper?”

Will raised an eyebrow. “Anybody want to clue me in?”

“The Fullmetal Alchemist is supposed to be dashing! And heroic! And – and _gentlemanly!_ ”

Will _probably_ shouldn’t have laughed as loud as he did. It was the last one that did it.

“ _Don’t laugh at me!_ ”

“Lady, I appreciate a cougar as much as the next guy, but you are barking up _well_ the wrong tree-“

She threw a couch cushion at him, and he caught it, tucking it down on the floor before Izumi decided to murder either of them.

Lyra intervened, although she didn’t look particularly sorry. “In my defense, it’s not _my_ fault Youswell was kissing up to you harder than a husband caught with his hand up the maid’s skirt.”

“…where do you even _get_ these expressions…” Fletcher wondered in the background.

“She drew her own conclusions, and I just, you know, _helped._ ”

“I don’t suppose you included the part where I knocked you on your ass,” Will drawled – and got another couch cushion launched at him.

“I think we might be getting off topic,” Izumi sighed. “Also, I’m wondering why I was so upset about not having children. Can you three _please_ introduce yourself so we can get to the issue at hand?”

Mei – that was her name, apparently – buried the rest of her face in her hands, still flushing. “I’m, um. Not a cougar.”

Will blinked. He’d been ready to make a joke about that, but if that was what was upsetting her badly –

“My name is Chang Mei -uh, Mei Chang, and…” She _was_ upset. It wasn’t just about him. “Um, this isn’t – I don’t look like this. This isn’t me.”

Lyra put a hand on her arm.

“I’m fourteen, not – I don’t even know how old this body is!”

“It’s okay, Mei. Will was just teasing, he didn’t know.”

“I didn’t. I had no idea, I’m sorry.”

Lyra gave him a little surprised glance at that, and he shrugged. He supposed from her perspective, him saying _sorry_ twice in one day was unheard of.

“I’m Lyra Y- uh, Wolf. Lyra Wolf.”

Fletcher gave her a strange look. “Fletcher Tringham. I’m from Xenotime, Lyra’s from Youswell. And Mei’s from Xing. So if there was anything about Dante, we didn’t know it.”

Izumi shook her head. “There wouldn’t have been. She’s always been very discreet.” She took a deep breath, finally looking at Mei. “I am so sorry. I… should have warned you.”

“You _knew?_ ”

“I didn’t. I was never certain, I always thought I was imagining things.”

Will shifted in his chair, sitting up properly. “Izumi, what are you talking about?”

Izumi took another deep breath. This was clearly whatever had gotten her so worked up before. “…When I was seven, something _happened_ to my mother. I don’t know what. We weren’t living here. My father, mother and I were in Tsetserleg, still.”

“Tsetserleg?”

“It’s one of the Southlands. Past Aerugo and Hayasa-Azzi.” Izumi smiled thinly, but the stress was carved into her face, a memory she clearly had tried to put away in a box, somewhere deep in her mind. “I don’t know for sure what changed. But overnight, she was a different person, and one of the people passing through the village had changed.”

A prickle went down Will’s back.

“And a year later, she took me to Amestris. _Without_ my father. She didn’t tell me why – just took me across the Southlands, through Aerugo, and here. I always wondered –“ She rubbed her face.

“Dante’s your mother.”

Izumi nodded – then paused. “Maybe. Close enough. If she stole my mother’s body…” Her shoulders sagged. “And I was never _certain,_ never sure that anything had actually _happened…_ But now she’s done it again.”

Christ. Will tried to imagine it, waking up one morning and watching someone else move around in your mother’s face, sensing that something was _wrong,_ and never knowing, brushing it off as a mistake for decades and decades… and then finally, brutally, having it confirmed that you hadn’t been crazy, that you’d been seeing something _real._

“You weren’t making it up,” he said quietly, because even with the limited empathy he had, he knew what _he’d_ wanted to hear, when Pride’s shifting faces had thrown his world into chaos. And Izumi burst into tears.

* * *

There wasn’t even dust left to show that Lust was gone, but Pride knew it anyway. Whatever tenuous bond there was between one homunculus and the next wasn’t good for much else, but when one of them died –

He wrenched open the cell door, slamming it closed behind him, but what he actually planned on _doing,_ he didn’t know. He’d told Sloth, who had already known – and she was taking the news to Dante as he spoke. So his responsibilities were taken care of.

He flung himself into the chair in the corner, hands over his face.

“If you’re going to use me as a venting post again, may I recommend not throwing anything this time?”

“Get over it. I didn’t throw anything _at_ you.”

Maes Hughes gave him a tired smile. The gunshot wound in his leg was still healing, but even if he had been able to walk, the cuffs on his arms and legs kept him from running off anywhere. As far as the world outside was concerned, he was dead. That was fine by Pride. Having an ace up your sleeve was always a good plan, in case of trouble.

“I doubt you’re going to tell me what part of your nefarious plan fell through. So will you at least tell me if it’s nice outside?”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been outside.” But Pride found himself smiling anyway. “It _is_ July. You should be glad you’re underground.”

“Are you kidding? I’m Viatjo, I _want_ a sunburn. I feel all slimy without one.”

Pride sighed and looked properly over at Maes. “A month locked up in a cell on bread and water and you’re still this cheerful. I don’t understand.”

Maes’s smile faltered a little. “It’s that or curl up and die, and I’m holding out _some_ hope of seeing my kid again.”

That wasn’t particularly likely. But Pride wasn’t about to let on that Maes’s survival chances actually far outweighed Elysia’s at this point. “…One of my friends died today.”

“What a pity. Were they eating babies at the time?”

Pride threw his fist at Maes’s face – and stopped himself a bare inch away. _You’re not like him. You’re not like him. You’re not like him._ Two, three years of sessions with Will, dealing with his temper, dealing with how quickly he used violence as a response, his inability to understand how others worked – there was no _point_ if he was just as bad. So he lowered his fist, sitting back down. Besides, it wasn’t like he could claim otherwise.

Maybe that was what was fucking him up. He was upset. He wasn’t _more_ upset. Lust was… his friend. Lust hadn’t been somebody he trusted.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t helpful.”

Pride noted, with an internal snicker, that Maes _hadn’t_ said it was uncalled for, because it wasn’t. “Nah. He was an asshole, and he had it coming.”

“And you’re pissed off anyway.”

“Well, _yeah._ I was trying to help him, and he just – brushed it off. I’ve spent so long pulling him out of trouble, you’d think by now he’d know I’m good at it.”

Maes chuckled wryly at that. “People get prideful. Pun unintended.”

“Har har.”

“Hey, try having a name that rhymes with corn.”

Pride snorted. “Fair enough. And he did have an ego the size of fuckin’ Jupiter. I-“ Then he paused. “ _Fuck off._ ”

“What?”

He got to his feet again, towering over Maes. “ _Stop it._ I’m not your _friend._ ”

Maes held up his hands innocently, like he hadn’t been getting all jovial with his captor. Then he spread them in a shrug. “…Don’t think I’m gonna ignore that you’re a kid.”

Pride kicked Maes so hard that it hurt. “I’m a kid in the same way that you’re still a fucking soldier,” he spat, before leaving. It was only on the way out that he realized what he’d said, and hissed at himself in rage. Soldiers didn’t stop being soldiers in captivity. And it didn’t matter how many hundreds of years he’d been alive – he supposed if he was still wearing his seventeen-year-old face, that said a lot about him, too.


	29. The Static Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Referenced abuse trauma, discussed-but-not-named homo/transphobia, smoking, suicide joke, medical, mutilation aftermath and internalized ableism, mental health issues/dissociation, and – PROMINENTLY ENOUGH TO PUT SEPARATELY – a quadruple whammy of racism, biphobia, misogyny and ableism/sanism from the biggest douche on the planet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If your eyebrows are lifting at the amount of morphine and laudanum showing up in this fic; most of our drugs that we use today didn’t start being synthesized until well after this time! So laudanum, opium, morphine, cocaine, etc. were actually just like. Used for everything. I haven’t had cocaine show up yet (I actually forgot it existed at this time) but there’s every chance it’ll be because it’s in Coca-Cola. Yes, that was also a real thing. Aren’t you glad you live in the modern world?
> 
> If you’re a really, REALLY big fan of Mustang… uh, well, first off, congrats for making it this far? But more to the point – I really want to make sure people know that I actually like Mustang’s character, even if I’m petty at times, he just makes such a supremely good villain that I have to let him stretch those lovely manipulative dickhead muscles. …This also doubles as a warning that comments about how “he would never do that” will be getting eyes rolled at them. Don’t make me pull out the receipts.

~29~

_visions of blasphemy  
war and peace  
screaming at you  
I can't see a thing in the video  
I can't hear a sound on the radio  
in stereo in the static age_

_- **The Static Age**_

Rizenbul was mostly farmland, the cluster of buildings in the main village – post office, pharmacy, train station, general store, pub, seamstress-and-haberdashery, and a barber – fading out into loosely spaced houses and pastures, and then further into fields of corn, carrots, berries, tomatoes… whatever would grow, which was most things in the arable soil of this part of the East. Pinako Rockbell lived closer into town – the hill that the Bradley house stood on top of had a straight shot down into town one way, and through the fields the other. _That_ direction took you into the woods, which weren’t dangerous so much as there wasn’t much point to them.

If you were a usual Rizenbul farm kid, anyway, Selim mused grumpily. He and Will and Alex had come out to the pond here plenty of times, and the pond itself was well-trafficked enough. He’d gone a little past it now, though, deeper into the trees, always keeping an eye behind him so he didn’t get lost. Most of his attention was elsewhere – on the conversation that Will was dead-set on _ignoring._

 _I’m not ignoring it,_ Will grumbled. _I just don’t care._

 _Some would call it the same thing,_ Selim snorted. He wasn’t following most of it, anyway. Izumi was talking about how Dante had raised her, which sounded a little terrifying to _him,_ but Will didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

_It’s basically how she trained us,_ Will explained. _Although it’s a little… more disturbing doing that to your own kid._

 _Weren’t you seven?_ Selim asked doubtfully.

_I mean, yeah, but we were there by choice. She even made a point of putting train tickets on the corkboard to make sure we could leave at any point._

That didn’t seem like normal teacher behaviour. Selim glanced through Will’s eyes at Izumi, who – Selim had never spent much time with her, but she definitely seemed cagey. The subject had changed to human transmutation and the actual specifics of the body swap, though, and Will quietly made an excuse and ducked out of the room. Sig just let him go, and suddenly Selim was in _two_ outdoors at once; the comfortable, shaded warmth of Rizenbul’s woods, versus the _sweltering_ heat of the South.

“You think you have it bad? I’m made of metal,” Will griped.

“You have it covered.”

“…Damn it. I thought I could complain freely.” The part of Dublith that Will was in was clearly a lot more urban than Dublith, but a far cry from the metropolis of Central. The road was paved, but not well – and while there were streetlights, they were oil, not electric.

“The future is here,” quipped Will, “it’s just not evenly distributed.”

“Where’d you get _that_ quote?”

“Don’t remember. But it’s true, isn’t it?” Will found a convenient tree, hoisting himself up onto the lowest branch and sighing as he let the shade cover him. “I never really thought about it until I started travelling so much. And I’ve never even been north or west.”

Selim stuck his hands in his pockets, still pacing through the woods. He liked moving around. It helped him think. “Do you think it’s a good thing?”

“Think what’s a good thing?”

“The future, I guess. Electric lights and – all of that stuff.”

Selim couldn’t see Will’s face, but he felt the hum of consideration and the hesitation to answer. Not strong emotions, no, but definitely _complicated_ ones. “Not sure. Electric lights are cool, and I like having cars around all the time, even if I still would rather die than _drive_ one. I mean, I miss Rizenbul. But –“ Will paused, a little break in his composure showing. “You and I know even if everything had gone like it was supposed to, I’d never have fit in.”

Selim allowed himself a small, sad smile. He remembered how much it had _hurt,_ watching Will take the dye out of his hair, change into trousers and a shirt, and get more cheerful responses… even here. And it hurt to hear Will confirm it, too, because it meant that if Trisha hadn’t died, if Will had never gone to train with Izumi or lost his arm and leg – if everything had just been _normal_ and _happy,_ it still wouldn’t have been.

It took a moment to realize that the quiet, perturbed feeling wasn’t his. _You really feel that way?_

“What do you mean?” Then he realized why Will was so uncomfortable. “No, I don’t –“ He fumbled with his words, but in his head wouldn’t have been any easier. “That’s _their_ problem.”

“I guess. Your dad does it too.”

“The less said about my dad,” Selim practically glowered, “the better.”

“Ahh,” Will laughed. “You’re still pissed.”

Selim didn’t answer that, mostly because he didn’t have to.

“I don’t mind _that_ much. I mean, it kinda sucks, but he’s old. Whatever. It’s just kind of weird, you know?”

“Which part?”

Will snorted. “Oh, uh… Let me put this way. At _home,_ my best friend’s dad is the one who very firmly made sure Alex knew not to have sex before marriage and had some very early dreams about setting you up with Alex that he thinks I don’t know about.” He waited for Selim’s splutter to fade. “And at _work,_ my boss hooks up with both men and women on a regular basis, has one of those big glass things of whiskey in her office-“

“Decanters?”

“Those things, yeah. And probably ran a gambling den or something before she joined the military.”

Selim thought about it for a moment. “…That sounds right. My god. They’d probably hate each other.”

“I’m shocked they’ve even met without somebody getting limbs broken.”

“They _have?_ ”

“When she came here to talk to me that first time. Remember?”

Selim grimaced. “ _Barely._ ” He realized something felt weird. He felt… relaxed, but more alert, more concentrated –

He looked through Will’s eyes, and couldn’t help a loud grumble at the cigarette in Will’s fingers. “ _Really?_ ”

“Fuck, you can tell?”

“Of course I can tell!”

“Gimme a break. I almost drowned. And if you’re going to lecture _me_ on bad coping skills…” Will let it hang, but the rest was pretty obvious from the shapes behind it.

Selim… tried to pretend his reaction wasn’t a sulk. It was totally a sulk, though. He couldn’t really get on Will’s case when he’d been dealing with their mysterious connection and the pain he soaked up from Will by just not _talking_ about it, and then there was the disappearing act he’d pulled on his dad. It was annoying and more than a little humbling to realize that, by some measures, Will was actually the _most_ well-adjusted of the three of them. Alex would have stomped his foot pretty loudly at that assertion, but which of them actually _admitted_ to having problems? Which of them actually had let himself go to therapy? And which of them – which _two_ of them – had run away from their issues instead?

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Will slid down the trunk of the tree and further down onto the branch, still nursing his cigarette between two fingers. “I’m still the one who took a razor to my wrist and tried to fight God, so there’s a _lot_ of ground to cover.”

“I was _trying_ to make a point to myself.”

“I’m just saying! There’s a whooole lot of miles between that and ‘Will’s actually the well-adjusted one’. Also, did I mention that the therapist thing _really_ didn’t work out? Because that has not improved my opinion of the field.”

Selim chuckled, but it didn’t last. “…I’m avoiding Pinako.”

“I’d put that much together. Why?”

He’d circled back to the pond, and he slid his feet out of his loafers, dipping them into the water. “…There was an automail surgery I was going to do. Before I ran off. Automail for a kid. And she kept saying it was a bad idea.”

“You didn’t do it, did you?”

This was exactly why Selim hadn’t told Will about it. The response was such immediate dread that Selim felt immediately terrible both for bringing it up and for thinking it was a good idea in the first place. But that hurt pride was still… _there._ “No. Pinako fitted her for normal prosthetics while I was gone. And it was a better idea. She’s too small for automail. You barely survived as it was. But I still have the plans, and…”

“And what?” Like Will didn’t know.

“She wants to see them.”

Will was quiet for a bit. “Isn’t that good?”

“It…” Selim’s voice cracked a little. “I _guess._ ” He couldn’t say this much out loud. _It’s great, except I don’t want her in my life at all. She’s Dad’s girlfriend, and Dad isn’t even supposed to have girlfriends, that’s bad enough. But she actually wants to be part of_ my _life._

“Far be it from me to be the mature adult here-“

_You’re a year older than me. Shut up._

“-but has it occurred to you that maybe she just knows you’re fucking talented?”

Selim resisted the urge to cut the connection and walk away. It was bad enough hearing it from Dad-

“Oh, please. Your dad’s full of shit about lots of things, but when it comes to you being talented, you know he’s never anything less than honest. I’m not trying to be mean, Selim, but you really need to get over it.”

“Like _you’d_ know,” Selim snapped, both mentally and verbally, without thinking about it. And immediately, Will vanished.

Shit. Shit, he hadn’t meant to –

“On the off-chance you’re listening,” he groaned into the empty air, lying back on the grass and quietly wishing for death, “can I restate the whole ‘you’re the well-adjusted one’ thesis? And apologize?” He wished ‘getting over it’ was as easy as Will had made it sound – but Will wasn’t _wrong,_ either. He was still angry about his mom. Pinako had nothing to do with it.

“Sorry,” he said again into the quiet.

… _Apology accepted,_ came the returning grumble.

Still pissed at him, Selim could tell. But that was something.

* * *

Juliet didn’t try to speak when she opened her eyes. She’d tried to, a few times, when she’d been alone in the room, but the doctor had his back to her this time. She wasn’t going to let anybody else hear the pathetic noises of a human mouth without a tongue. So she just stayed silent, and took stock of – not her surroundings. Where she _was_ didn’t matter.

_Who_ she was, now… that was a different story. No tongue, so she couldn’t speak. That much she’d known. Her sight was a little strange out of one eye – blurry, but if she focused _just_ right she could make it work. And, she thought, it had been worse the last time she’d woken up.

Her arms… Both there, at least. One of her hands, the left one, was still bandaged and splinted, and she couldn’t quite feel her fingers. If she really focused, she could make the thumb and pinky twitch. The other hand was, miraculously, untouched. But if she even _tried_ to move the elbow, it sent a shock of pain all the way up to her neck.

Juliet parted the robe she’d put in and stared at the small tube between her ribs. She didn’t remember this. Not that she remembered much. But at least everything else so far had _tracked,_ had felt like it followed, even if she didn’t recall the A to the B. This –

She reached out, winced, and managed to grab hold of a pen on the bedside. Then she chucked it at the back of the doctor’s head.

“Erk! Christ. Guess _you’re_ awake.” He turned around, and she jabbed an accusing finger at the tube. “Ah. Yes, that. I thought you would remember, but I suppose the laudanum has you pretty out of it.”

Laudanum. Lovely. She jabbed again, insisting that he explain.

“Your lung collapsed while you were asleep. One of your ribs was broken, and got dislodged while your friend was carrying you. It took a while to puncture the lung, but luckily it did so while you were here, instead of down… wherever it was you were.”

Her Amestrian was pretty good, but it still took her a while to sort through that one. At least he wasn’t using any medical terms. But once she processed it, she realized he was telling her she’d almost died. _Again._

“You’re stable now, but your blood pressure is still a little rickety. And you’re not going anywhere until both your hand and that pneumothorax heals.” At her stare, he clarified, “That tube.”

She pointed a finger at her mouth – and to her surprise, his gruff features softened a bit. He was an older man, balding, with square glasses and a scruff of stubble along his strong jaw. “I’m going to take a look, alright?”

She didn’t want him to. The last thing she wanted was to be touched – but he was still a doctor, and she was a lot of things, but she wasn’t stupid. So when he came and sat by her bedside, she opened her mouth, even if it was hesitantly. He shone a light down her throat, and she tried not to feel exposed, like she couldn’t feel what was missing.

“It’s healing well,” he said. “No sign of infection so far. Whoever cut out your tongue left you enough to guide swallowing, and the cut itself is clean enough – no tearing or additional trauma.” He lowered the light. “You’ll have to stick to broth and water for a while still, though. And I’m afraid while you can make _some_ sounds, most speech isn’t possible without a tongue.”

She knew that. Did he think she was an imbecile like her brother? She _knew_ that. And she knew that princesses and emperors – anybody who wanted to be _anything –_ couldn’t do that without a goddamn tongue. She-

_-that isn’t you-_

Her head hurt.

_Hush. Hush, don’t think about that. Zhu Yingtai has a brother. Zhu Yingtai wants to be emperor. You don’t have to worry about any of that._

“Your family’s outside. Do you want to see them?”

She shook her head.

“What about Ranfan? She’s been asking for you-“

Shook her head again.

The doctor looked disappointed, although it was hard to tell on his face. “Suit yourself. Plenty of people do just fine with injuries like yours – but you’re going to need their support.”

He didn’t understand. The support was the problem. The support meant being vulnerable, and that was _more_ work, _more_ effort. It was more effort to remember who she was supposed to be, all the little scraps that somehow fit back together into being a person, than it was to shove it all aside.

_Don’t worry about any of that. Don’t think about that. Don’t._

The doctor left. Juliet Douglas (who had never been anybody else) carefully slid one leg out of bed, then the other. The splint on her hand hurt, but if she just left it like that for a while, she’d be fine. The tube was trickier. She carefully, painfully, made it over to the end of the room that the doctor had stood at.

Wherever she was, it wasn’t a hospital. This was just a bedroom. She could tell, because the desk that she’d taken as a medical supply center had a family photo propped up in one corner, a doctor’s badge next to it. The surface of the desk had a spare sheet spread across it, a few drops of blood the only sign of what he’d used it for, a few spare needles and a roll of medical-grade thread upon it as well as a scalpel and the little torch he’d used to look down her throat.

She looked around some more. There was a closet in the wall – she found a woman’s button-up shirt in the corner, with no sign of who it had belonged to, and a skirt. A man’s coat over top, probably the good doctor’s. She pocketed the scalpel, the needles, the thread, and – opening one of the drawers – as much of the laudanum as she could manage.

The doctor had put her in the room with the back door. Who would assume that the patient was stupid enough to leave, right? As long as she didn’t nudge the tube too much, she’d be fine.

Juliet Douglas disappeared, barefoot, into the rain. And if Ranfan hadn’t been asleep, she never would have let her go. 

* * *

There were a number of faces Jareth would have enjoyed waking up to at his bedside after a frankly-traumatic experience. None of them were Zolf J. Kimbley.

“Motherf-“ Jareth sat up in shock, and immediately regretted it. “-owww.”

“I could have told you that was a bad idea,” Zolf replied, openly grinning.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in prison?” Jareth wheezed, easing himself back into the hospital bed. The fact that he was in more pain _now_ than when he’d gotten torn open should be a crime. “If you broke out, I’m very flattered that you came to visit me, but I’m _not_ covering for you.”

“Please. I don’t do sentiment.” Zolf sat back in the chair. As the grogginess of drugged sleep cleared, Jareth realized in horror that Zolf was cleaned up, in uniform, with his long black hair tied back into a ponytail –

He swallowed thickly, before Zolf continued.

“It appears I’ve finally served enough time that they’re giving me my job back. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“Not particularly.”

“I thought you’d be happy for me.” Zolf didn’t look particularly distraught, but to be fair, he never did. “All of those years visiting me in prison, and now we can actually socialize like real people.”

Jareth didn’t know how to respond to that. Maybe Zolf _had_ changed. He’d never been the most obvious person. “…Okay, so why are you _here?_ ”

“…Didn’t I just say that?” Zolf folded one leg over the other, hands resting on his lap like Jareth was failing a test.

He snorted. “Oh, yeah, sure, you’re visiting me in the hospital after getting a pardon to ask me on a _date._ ”

“You needn’t be snarky about it,” Zolf said with the same small, lightly mocking smile.

-Oh.

“Not _everything_ I say is layered with double meaning, you know. Unless you’re still holding that old chestnut against me. I know Diana still is, but that woman nurses grudges until they’re old enough to drink.”

Jareth snickered, although he knew he shouldn’t have. “…You should go.”

“Ah. So that’s a yes.”

“I didn’t say that. Just…” Jareth looked away. “Let me think about it.”

“I’ll accept that.”

Jareth listened as Kimbley pushed his chair back and left, the door of the hospital room swinging closed behind him. So much for a restful recovery. Now he had to think about Ishval, and Black Ops – and Zolf J. _fucking_ Kimbley, who had been rotting away for a well-deserved lifetime in prison, and who he was still, somehow, incredibly glad to see.

* * *

Colonel Solaris adjusted her uniform, cursing how visible her bruises were still. She’d come to work the previous day and had been ordered back home by Falman, who had apparently activated his mother hen instincts. But today, Mustang had actually summoned her in – and truth be told, she had _not_ been looking forward to any sort of extended recovery time at home. She liked working, and she _also_ knew what would happen if she took any major time off work. It was bad enough that she’d visibly lost it at Maes’s funeral.

_Stop thinking about Maes,_ she reminded herself. Except she couldn’t. Jareth had opened the door that she couldn’t close. Drinking to avoid thinking about it wasn’t enough anymore. She was going to find his killer and make them pay. And she wasn’t that self-centered – she’d already promised that. But promises made at the bottom of a glass of whiskey and promises made in the light of day were very different things.

Bold words. Like she hadn’t slept with Havoc, woken up while it was still dark outside, gone home, and drank herself into a stupor again.

_Baby steps. At least you know you have a problem._ Which felt like it was about as much progress as a grown woman spelling her name right.

“The Fuhrer will see you now,” came the voice from the door.

Solaris glanced up at Hawkeye, who was as stone-faced as ever, and offered her a smile. It wasn’t returned – not that she’d expected it to be. Who knew what it was the Fuhrer’s assistant had against her? It wasn’t like she was the only woman in the military who assumed she’d gotten her position in less than savory ways. _Olivier never gets that,_ she thought ruefully, but then again, Olivier had a family name supporting her.

“Diana! So glad to see you.”

_It’s Solaris,_ she seethed internally, plastering the smile on her face. “Roy,” she replied. “I haven’t seen you since the gala.”

He smiled back, coal-black eyes sparkling as he acknowledged her firing back the insult. “Well, it’s been a busy time. Luckily things in Lior are dying down a little – just in time for Forcett to flare up again. How frustrating. I’m sure you’re particularly glad not to be on Border Control these days.”

“More than you know. National Security is enough of a headache.”

“Yes, I can imagine. Speaking of which-“ He folded his arms on his desk. They were in _his_ office this time; she was the intruder, and she felt it. “I hear you had an encounter with some foreign nationals.”

“I did. One of them appeared to be a homunculus, much like the Beast.”

“Much like? So it wasn’t the Beast itself?”

“It wasn’t, sir. He was Xingese.”

If Mustang was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Hm. Fascinating. I recall asking you to pursue the Beast, Diana.”

“I believe they’re connected. I can’t assume that two homunculi are unconnected, sir.”

“Was this homunculus attacking or threatening anybody?”

She nodded. “A young woman who had been previously been brought in by Border Security as a possible spy. She-“

Mustang sighed. “Let me reword that, Solaris. Was it threatening any _Amestrians?_ ”

She clenched her hands in her lap so hard she thought her nails would draw blood even through her white gloves. “No, sir,” she managed, but she could hear how her voice shook.

He looked at her, almost pityingly. She _wanted_ to like him. So badly. Why? Because it meant he was paying attention to her for reasons she could admire? Because it meant there was something worth saving? Because it meant the last decade of her life hadn’t been for nothing? She had been twenty years old when she graduated the Academy. Twenty-one when she passed the State Alchemist exam.

She wanted to like Mustang, and she wanted him to like her.

“I understand you must be having a hard time with some of this,” he said, and the tone of it made her want to scratch his eyes out. “Somebody of your background, obviously, has a certain amount of… what is it? Divided loyalties?”

She unstuck her tongue from the bottom of her mouth long enough to reply. “I’m Amestrian, sir.”

“Officially, on paper, perhaps. But it’s rather an open secret, isn’t it? Much like your proclivities.”

_You could kill him,_ Solaris thought idly. But she glanced at the shadows on the ground, and one of them moved. Hawkeye was standing behind her. She’d get a shot through the head before she so much as snapped her fingers.

“Don’t look so stiff, Diana!” He laughed. “I don’t _care._ I think it’s charming. And I know it puts you in a sticky spot. But illegals are still illegals, you know. And your situation isn’t theirs. Your and my responsibility is for the citizens of this country. Everybody else is somebody else’s concern.”

“So you want me to focus on the Beast.”

“Preferably, yes. I’ll make sure somebody else is assigned to investigating the possibilities of that other homunculus, though. Were there any remains?”

“…No,” she admitted. “It turned to dust.”

“Shame,” he said, with a lingering smirk that implied that he didn’t believe her. “And meanwhile the Beast still roams free. There was another death, you know. Major Thibodeau.”

“Are you implying it’s my fault, sir?”

“Not at all, Diana,” he sighed. “I’m being extremely clear. If you’re not capable of the task I’ve assigned you, I’ll find somebody who is. If you’re too preoccupied with the death of Maes Hughes –“

Solaris got to her feet, fists by her sides. Mustang just gazed up at her, practically bored. “Don’t embarrass yourself. I have quite a lot of respect for you, and I’d hate to lose that because you can’t handle being told that you’re slipping.”

“Sir-“

“Sit _down._ ”

She did so. Something had changed in him, she realized. Something was different. The playful nature was still there, but he was less willing to play ball. Slowly, she sat back down in the chair, a little warier, a little steadier on her feet. “I apologize,” she said after a moment. “He and I were… close.”

“Lovers?”

“N-no,” she said after a moment, taken by surprise. “I can see how you might think that, but no, never. Just friends.”

“I find it rare that men and women manage to be friends without at least _some_ attraction one way or another,” he chuckled, back in good humor, “but I suppose rare doesn’t mean impossible.” Then he caught himself, catching what she thought might have been a glare from Hawkeye. “I’m sorry for your loss, Solaris. And if it’s any comfort, while the military police haven’t made any headway, his replacement is coming in from the West and will be taking the case on with the highest priority.”

…That _did_ help. “May I ask who the replacement is?”

“Certainly. Lieutenant-Colonel Frank Archer. He comes very well-recommended.”

Oh dear. That was a touch unfortunate. It had been over ten years; Solaris doubted he’d recognize either of them, but she wondered if Mustang knew that some of that recommendation came from the Halky. “I got some information from this homunculus that will help me locate the Beast. And once I get the files on this new death from Investigations, I’ll be able to find him.”

“Excellent.” He paused. “One last thing, while you’re here.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Fullmetal. I understand he’s been in recuperation in Dublith after the Lab 5 incident, on heavy recommendation from his therapist.” Mustang sighed, looking genuinely doubtful. “I’ve spoken with Dr. Holland. While he hasn’t indicated one way or another… Do you think Fullmetal is safe to return to active service?”

She hadn’t expected this question. Certainly not from the Fuhrer himself. “I – I assume so, sir.”

“You assume so? That sounds like you trying to get away from the subject,” he said with another smile.

“I…”

“Solaris, he’s a member of our forces. I’m not asking because he’s in trouble. I’m asking for his safety and those around him. I wouldn’t have authorized what I have – psychotherapy, frequent time off, unstructured missions – if I wasn’t willing to work with his condition.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “As he matures, things are certainly changing for the better. It seems that therapy is having a positive impact. He’s an excellent soldier – he just requires guidance here and there.”

“Hmm. I’ll take that on board. He’s the closest State Alchemist to Forcett currently, and they could use some intervention. Still, you make a good point. He’s young still.”

_Send me,_ she thought desperately.

“Zolf J. Kimbley’s just earned his pardon. I’ll send him out to supervise, and make a final decision on whether or not Elric’s suitable for active service. The Lab 5 incident has me concerned – and you can see why.”

Solaris had overstepped enough during the conversation that she wasn’t going to say anything else, but her heart pounded so hard against her ribs that she was going to be sick. Kimbley had been _pardoned?_ She would have chosen literally anybody else in the world over Kimbley to make a call on Will’s mental health. She would have chosen the Fuhrer himself. A just-pardoned serial killer to decide whether or not Will remained a State Alchemist. This wasn’t fair –

-and there was no way that wasn’t the point.

“Is that everything, sir?”

“That’s all, yes. Now go home and get some sleep. You still look a wreck.”

“Yes, sir.” She left, legs still shaking. Don’t show anything. Don’t –

The moment she was outside, she found the first phone booth she could. She pushed away the thoughts of Maes that sprung to mind, putting her back against one of the walls and checking behind her.

She could call Will at his teacher’s.

Except.

Except –

_Stop overthinking it,_ she reprimanded herself. He didn’t even know about Hughes. She’d – she’d kept meaning to call him. How did you tell somebody who was already grieving that a man they looked up to, a man who’d been almost as much his family as hers, was dead? And now…

_You have to warn him, somehow._ Warn him about what? Kimbley was going there to observe. And if she freaked out Will before he went –

_He’s not some frightened child you have to safeguard. Give him all the information. That’s what he keeps telling you to do._

She kept thinking about him in the ambulance. Him in her house, trying to pretend he had it all together. He _was_ a frightened child. He was sixteen years old, and he was in trouble, and she didn’t know how to help, because she was almost thirty years old, and she was just as scared.

_Think, think, think._

Kimbley would take time to get there. These things didn’t move immediately. And…

What had Will said? The way they would prove their identities to each other. His secret. He and Selim had… something. Something unidentifiable. Something that didn’t make sense. She didn’t know how it worked. But…

She took a deep breath, and walked back into the office. She still wasn’t together. She still didn’t know what to do. “Falman?”

“Yes, sir?”

“My office. I’ve got a detail for you.”

Rizenbul, the Bradley residence.


	30. If I Had A Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: sexism, smoking, mild/accidental transmisogyny (depending on your perspective?), dysphoria discussion, body dysmorphia, war discussion, alcohol/alcoholism mention, hypersexuality mention (not by name, but if you know it, you know it), mental health spirals discussed, anti-Asian racism offscreen, execution offscreen, medical, blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be my longest chapter to date… oops. My chapters keep getting longer but it doesn’t feel like more is necessarily happening *in* them – my writing style just is dwelling on scenes more and letting more happen in the… happening. I don’t know if that makes sense.
> 
> For non-history geeks, a lot of what Lyra, Selim, Will, etc. have been thinking about and dwelling on the last few chapters is genuinely historically accurate for this period of history; 1914, the war years, and the 20s in general were a period of immense social change, which I’m trying to reflect in the background of this fic. The massive switch from rural farming communities to Massive Metropolitan Cities was a product of the Industrial Revolution for the most part, but it was a slow-growing thing; around this time is when you start seeing that speed up. The car goes from a fairly expensive item to more and more widespread; horse-and-buggies have to compete for space in roads with them and women, having entered the workforce en masse during the war, are loath to give up their newfound freedoms. Amestris, obviously, doesn’t have quite the same social drivers at work. However, Amestris’s constant warmongering means industrialization is definitely increasing at a drastic speed – the West is the biggest victim of this, and when we see West City later I’ll be talking more about it in-fic – and obviously, they need more and more people in the military to make up for losses, so women have been able to join for fifty years or so. However, they’re also seeing the consequences of this in a few ways – one, military women with actual *careers* are less likely to quit, settle down, and have children, which means an overall population drop, and two, women outside of the military are getting influenced by the military’s culture, which is where you’re seeing women like Izumi and Lyra clashing with more traditional people like Gracia. When you have a military that’s so omnipresent, you can’t have two sets of standards for women inside and outside the military without causing a lot of social tension. This is also true for queer folks, which will be coming up more!
> 
> What Jareth says about Redwick Bush is also a true part of history. There were multiple gold rushes at multiple times in history, but the southwest of Amestris is, much like Xenotime in the East but at an earlier period of history, somewhere where a decent amount of gold was found, the rush started, but the gold dried up so fast that the settlements couldn’t support themselves in other ways and slowly became ghost towns. Redwick Bush persisted because of other minerals in the mine, but small deposits of things like tin aren’t nearly as lucrative. So while a lot of people in this fic and in the military in general are from “small towns” – they’re all from different kinds! Havoc is from a religious and semi-insular community, Rizenbul is a growing but still-rural farming town, and Jareth’s home is a dying ghost town.
> 
> Linguistic notes: Cigano is, as mentioned before, the Amestrian word for Romani. It’s actually not the most complimentary word, but especially because of the culture at this point, there’s not a big push to normalize using actual group names because they’re, uh, trying to avoid getting killed, mostly. I’ve been using Esperanto for the most part as a stand-in for Romanes, because Romanes is a pretty private language that I’m not super comfortable with people learning from an FMA fic, but a few words used are actual Romanes terms, like ‘vardo’ and ‘gadje’ (sing. gadjo).
> 
> The Ishvalan in this is a conlang that I’ve been building – it’s been a while since it’s shown up! The link is over here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23587204/chapters/56595598 but for the purposes of this chapter, ‘Invata nakab’ is the shortened version of ‘Invata nakab ragudain nevani’ – literally, this translates to ‘Holy ground, give me grace’, but it’s essentially ‘Dear god, give me strength’. Which is as sarcastic as it sounds. ‘Invata nakab’ is a short and therefore more mild version – if somebody’s muttering the long version at you, then you’ve REALLY fucked up. The other bit of Ishvalan is ‘Nekbeshai lawakhan’ – ‘I’m doing my best’, where ‘lawakhan’ is an irregular adjective.

~30~

_If I had a heart I could love you  
If I had a voice I would sing  
After the night when I wake up  
I'll see what tomorrow brings_

**_-If I Had A Heart_ **

Ebenezer Yoki hadn’t particularly wanted children, but he’d made it clear from the time that Lyra was born that he’d wanted a boy. Not as badly as some other parents might have; it was just as clear to Lyra that she would have been just as largely-ignored if she’d been male, especially since her mother had had the bad grace to die in childbirth and leave the raising to _him._ Which meant, to the maids and hired help. Looking back, really, it was a wonder she hadn’t turned out worse.

He certainly hadn’t thought as far ahead as considering a dowry for her (ugh, outdated custom as it was) or getting her married. And it was a new century, after all. She could do what she wanted – but it _did_ sort of sting that she hadn’t had a choice.

She watched Will in the tree, sighing a little. He did look awfully cute. He wasn’t _fully_ asleep; the lit cigarette in his mouth proved that much, but he was definitely dozing, eyes closed with one leg on the branch and one swinging down below it. He’d switched to leggings instead of a skirt sometime between Youswell and now, but the red lacing up the sides meant he didn’t look any less effeminate. Still, she could imagine him – with some effort – in a proper tailored suit, her in one of the ladies’ dresses you saw in the window. Her father marrying her off to a State Alchemist, like she mattered. Him pretending he wasn’t… whatever he was. They’d have been normal. And they’d have been absolutely miserable.

She didn’t know why she was thinking about this. Maybe because she’d expected to still be furious with Will. Instead, she found herself… not still nursing a _crush_ on him, exactly. Just the ghost of one, paired with whatever bizarre feelings she was having for Alex that she was _not_ willing to put any sort of name to yet.

“Why are you staring at Major Elric?” came the timid voice from behind her, startling her more than she expected.

“Mei,” she sighed. “I’m _not._ Also, he said not to call him that.”

“It feels weird not to,” she mumbled. Then she pouted slightly down at Lyra, who was still quite comfortable on the bench below the tree. “You _lied_ to me.”

“I didn’t! He’s perfectly dashing and handsome. From a certain perspective.”

“Well, I – I guess. He’s just not what I expected.” Mei blushed. “I guess I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up.”

“I can _hear you,_ ” came the grouchy mumble from above them.

“Oh no,” Mei squeaked. “I’m sorry! I was coming to apologize! And I made it worse!”

Will snorted. “I’m not your type. I get it.” He swung his foot back and forth, taking a puff on his cigarette.

“You _are_ very pretty,” Mei said, so sincerely that Lyra leaned over to catch the look on Will’s face. Sure enough, he’d gone bright red, cheeks flaming up under the strands of purple hair that blew over his face.

“Aw.” She couldn’t help herself.

“Go choke on a dick, Lyra.”

“I would, but your brother’s not here-“

Will flung himself out of the tree and onto her with a yell. “ACK!” She found herself spitting out hair, and flailed out at him with her fists as she hit the grass. “Gerroff!”

“I’m not even _hitting_ you. I can if you want- Mei, is she always like this?”

There was a deep, long-suffering sigh. “Yes. She grows on you.”

Lyra gave up her flailing, realizing with a grump that Will just had her shoulders pinned to the ground. “ _Thank you_ for your _defense,_ Princess.”

“Any time!”

Will glared down at her, then scowled. “You made me drop my cigarette.”

“ _Made you?_ ”

He sat back, seemingly completely clueless about the fact that he was straddling her stomach. “You owe me another one.”

“I don’t smoke,” she lied. Badly.

“She does,” Mei intervened. “She keeps sneaking out in the middle of the night because she doesn’t want us to know-“

“Why are we friends?”

“Because I put up with you,” Mei offered cheerfully. Lyra wondered if it would count as elder abuse to hit her.

Will narrowed his eyes, watching Lyra intently, and Lyra struggled not to bite her lip. She’d never been quite _this_ close to him before. Had nobody told him not to – oh, of course they hadn’t. That would require somebody actually explaining that plenty of girls _liked_ femmey boys. Then he lifted one metal finger to her face. “We’re getting my brother back from whatever weirdo cult he got himself stuck in. And then I will _chaperone you._ ”

“Chap-“

“ _Shush._ And if you hurt him, I. Will. End. You. Do I make myself clear?”

Lyra hoped he hadn’t noticed the blush crawling up her face. “Yessir.”

“Excellent. Now give me a cigarette.”

Lyra groaned, reached into the pocket of her coat that was hanging on the bench, and handed him one. He got up, leaving her on the ground, then flashed her a grin before disappearing back into Izumi’s house.

She flopped back onto the grass, and Mei hovered over her, her typical expressions somehow coming through on the aged face. “That is a _dangerous_ boy.”

“Which part?” Lyra moaned, putting her hands to her face. “The part where he can hold me down with one hand, or the part where it is hot as hell and he has no idea?”

“Are you _sure_ he’s gay?”

Lyra reflected on the kiss in Youswell. “Yeah… yeah, I’m pretty sure.”

“Damn.”

“Although –“

“No, Lyra, you can’t have both of them.”

“I was _not –_ “ she paused. “-considering it for more than a second. I hate that man. I really, really do.”

Mei just smiled – then buried her face in her shawl.

“Oh, no, shit, did I say something?”

“No, I’m fine,” Mei tearfully mumbled into the shawl. Rather unconvincingly, Lyra reflected.

“…Uh, are you sure?”

She just got a whimper in response. “Okay. Uh, sit down for a sec? You’ve been standing for a while-“

Mei collapsed down onto the bench, still not lifting her face from the shawl. “Xiao Mei’s still in the mansion,” she said, voice wobbly, “and I’m stuck like _this,_ all – all _wrinkly_ and _old,_ and I ache, and…”

“We’re gonna fix it! I promise! I- um- Xiao Mei’s a smart kitty-“

“ _Panda._ ”

“Panda. Yeah. And Alex is there! Alex will take care of her.”

Mei just let out another sob, and of course, now _Lyra_ was upset, because it was very possible Alex wasn’t in a position to take care of _anybody._ Lovely. She was doing a bang-up job of this.

“Come on, talk to me. What brought this on, just standing here? I know I’m not – I’m –“ Lyra blew a silent raspberry. Words were hard. “I’m sort of a _terrible_ friend, but I know when to shut my trap, I swear.”

Mei sniffled, wiping her nose. “It’s stupid.”

“Nothing upsetting you about this could possibly be stupid.” It felt genuine to say, and it felt _weird_ being genuine. Like being a real person.

The other girl let out a sigh, staring at her spotted hands. Dante had kept her body in _mostly_ decent shape, but there was definitely a strange smell about it that Lyra didn’t want to think about. Old people stuff, probably. “Fletcher isn’t… I mean…” She swallowed. “I don’t even know if anything _was_ happening! And it would be fine if it wasn’t! But before if nothing happened it wouldn’t be because I’m all –“

“ _Oh._ Oh dear.” Lyra thought about how jealous she’d been. She’d been nursing what – in retrospect – hadn’t really been a crush on Fletcher so much as her first real friend.

That was a depressing realization, actually. Moving on.

Still, that made a lot of sense. “Fletcher’s not _that_ shallow.”

“It’s not about him being shallow, though,” Mei said miserably. “I don’t just _look_ old, I _am_ old. I went from having another seventy years to live to _ten._ ”

…Shit. There wasn’t a whole lot she could say to that. “Um.”

“We’ll get your body back. Don’t worry.”

_Motherfucker,_ Will moved quietly. She hadn’t even noticed him coming back out. It helped that the bench had their backs facing Izumi’s, but _still._

Mei sniffled, glancing up at him. “You mean it?”

“Sure I mean it.” He stood in front of her, half-smile complementing the glint in his eyes. “I said the same thing to Alex, and I’ll say it to you. Your body belongs to _you._ Dante was planning on you being dead, but you aren’t. As long as you’re alive, there’s hope, right?”

More tears formed in Mei’s eyes, and she leaped forward, latching her arms around Will’s middle – because, Lyra realized with an amused snort, she wasn’t _used_ to being able to reach much higher. At least she was sitting down.

“Yeah, yeah. Izumi says she might have some stuff to help you out in the meantime, if you use some of that Xingese alchemy whatchamacallit and show it to her. And you two can figure out how to stay safe over the next while, too.”

“Okay!” Mei bobbed her head, and fled inside.

Once she was gone, Lyra examined Will’s face. In the short time he’d been gone, something had changed. He sat down next to her, tapping his fingers on his thigh.

“I notice,” she said quietly, “that you _didn’t_ get Alex’s body back.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m not criticizing. Just…”

“What did you _want_ me to tell her?” he said, the mask of determination collapsing to show the exhaustion underneath. “It works for now. Besides, I’m _going_ to.”

She wanted to ask, so badly. Because Alex _did_ have a body. But it was trapped, marked by Dante. “Couldn’t… we just make new ones? For both of them, like Dante did?”

Will shook his head. “Souls don’t like vessels they don’t belong to. They reject after a while. I get why Mei’s concerned, but we’re on a time limit no matter what.”

Lyra felt sick suddenly. So Mei was going to die no matter how old the body she was in. Then it hit her, and she grabbed his arm. “But – Will, Alex _loves_ that body. He designed every part of himself, I helped, but – what do you _mean,_ it’s going to reject him?” Before Will could answer, she asked, “What does his old body look like? I mean, if you can even get it back? I – I don’t even know what happened to it.”

Will gave her a startled look. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No, we didn’t really… talk about it. He joked about the doll a lot, but nothing before that.”

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “It’s…” He scratched the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “The way Mei feels right now is kind of how he felt before. Even before anything happened.”

“…But you can fix it? Right?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can’t just put him back in-“

“ _I know that!_ ” Will snapped, fist coming down on the wooden bench between them. Lyra jumped back, heart pounding in her chest – but then she looked at his face, and realized that this was what Alex _hadn’t_ said. This was what they’d fought about – why Alex had left. And, she chewed over, it gave her a new question – why had Alex brushed it aside with them ‘not getting along’? She’d believed that when she thought of Will as the boorish prick who’d left her life in tatters and humiliated her on top of it. Now, she was just more confused.

She took a deep breath. “…Can I help?”

“You _have_ changed,” he said in pleased surprise.

“Did fishing you out of a lake not clue you in? Next time I’m letting the fish eat you.”

Will crossed his arms, worrying a hole into his lip. “I got a courtesy call from HQ. They’re sending me back into the field.”

“The field?”

“Into _combat._ They’ve… never done that before.” He looked scared, almost, for a moment – but he steeled it over quickly. “Forcett, on the border. I’ve got a few days before I have to leave on official orders, but…” He rubbed his face. He knew who he was talking to. And Lyra knew what it meant, sending a State Alchemist into a combat situation.

She pushed away whatever fear she was feeling, and when he let his arms fall, she slid his hand into his.

“I don’t want to go,” he murmured.

“I figured.”

“They’ll draw me up on court-martial if I don’t,” he sighed.

“You don’t _have_ to hurt people. You’re smart. You’ll work something out.”

Will gave her a strange look, then squeezed her hand. “I’d better go. Izumi wants me to pick up some eggs before the corner store closes and I’m – genuinely considering grabbing a beer or two.”

“Want company?”

“Are you trying to steal your cig back?”

“… _No._ ”

She wished Alex was here. Not just because she missed him, even though she did, with so much energy that it hurt. But because she’d been so mean about Will, made it into a joke; but instead, keeping pace with him on the darkening streets of Dublith, she thought instead that this was a present she was almost happy with. The danger and the stress, no. Getting tipsy on cheap general-store beer, and wandering home with a bag of egg cartons in one hand and their shoes in the other, _friends_ instead of stiff, miserable marriage prospects or enemies over a mine’s deed –

Yeah. That worked. And she wanted to tell Alex that she’d been wrong, and that his brother wasn’t an asshole _all_ the time. That he wasn’t so bad after all.

Although he had _awful_ taste in beer.

* * *

Diana was avoiding him. He wished it wasn’t so obvious – Havoc kept making excuses every time he showed up, and even Fuery, bless him, kept getting awkward around the topic. Sheska didn’t mention her at all, but she probably hadn’t realized it. She kept bringing him books to read to him, which was more appreciated than she probably knew; as much as she claimed that it was because he couldn’t _possibly_ be expected to concentrate on text with the amount of drugs he was still on, they both knew he struggled with reading. Truthfully, he’d expected it to be a dealbreaker for her, the first time they’d gone out together. It was nice that she could tell the difference between _didn’t_ and _couldn’t_ read.

This time around, though, even listening was hard. Sheska closed the book with a little ‘thud’. “You’re not really here, are you?”

“…Sorry.”

“I’m not _mad._ Well, maybe a little grumpy. I was getting to the good part.”

He chuckled a little, reaching over and squeezing her hand. “I appreciate it, Shes. I’m just a little distracted.”

She made a considering face, mouth tucking into her cheek. Jareth smiled despite himself; it always made her look a little like a squirrel, when she made that expression. Not that he’d ever _say_ that. He’d just quietly think it and admire her. “…Is it about that… thing you fought?”

“Um. Sort of.”

She shrank a little. “Is it about the fact that I snuck into your apartment?”

“What? No. Wait-“ He hadn’t actually got that far. “Is _that_ what happened? You snuck in and spooked him?”

Sheska went bright red, hiding behind the book. “ _The Colonel told me to it’s not my fault but also we were worried-_ “

Jareth reached forward and lowered the book. “Shes. It’s fine. I probably needed it.”

Sheska gave a wry nod to that, which hurt his ego a _little,_ but he deserved it. “You’re… um.”

“Spit it out.”

“You’re not very good at _telling_ people things. I’m not mad about you vanishing on me anymore, I forgave you ages ago, also because you got me flowers and it was really sweet, but you are-“ She sighed, bonking her knees with the book. “You are so bad at just _talking_ to people! You could have just talked to me, or the Colonel! She was grieving, too, and – and, so was _I,_ and you left us all on our own!”

Jareth blinked in surprise. First Sheska was standing up enough to him to shove him out of her house and slam a door in his face, then she was fighting off an immortal rapist with _surprising_ vigor, and now she was telling him off. Hidden depths. _Very attractive_ hidden depths, but nonetheless.

Which didn’t mean he entirely appreciated it. “I don’t really talk about my emotions. Not really that kind of guy.”

“You _know_ that’s not what – _hmmph._ ”

He didn’t say anything in response, mostly because he wasn’t sure what he _could_ say. He liked Sheska. He liked her a _lot._ But he was bad enough at this with Diana, and they’d known each other for years. Pretty much the only person he’d actually talked about his _feelings_ with was-

-well, Maes.

Which was kind of the problem, really.

“I know exactly what you’re doing,” Sheska said, almost haughtily crossing her arms. “You’re trying to make me leave and be all tough-guy grumpy because that’s easier than actually talking about how you feel. Too bad. I’m not leaving.” She even gave a little nod of her head.

“Which book did you read that in?”

“ _Modern Psycholo-_ hey! Not the point!”

He snickered as her face went red. But he was listening, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose with a sigh. Sheska had… a point. Not talking to people had stuck him in a depressive, borderline-alcoholic spiral, and he could claim all he wanted that Ling had been responsible, but he’d mostly helped it along. If it hadn’t been Ling, it would have been somebody else, or multiple people, bringing them home to make sure he didn’t have to think about anything else. God, he wasn’t even sure he would have been smart enough not to do it to Sheska – use her for sex and shut her out everywhere else. He _wanted_ to believe he was better than that.

_So be better._

It took him a bit to get his tongue moving the way he wanted it to. “…Maes and I met when I was thirteen.”

“Oh. Oh, wow.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “To be fair, he _thought_ I was twenty. Hitting six feet at thirteen will do that.”

Sheska looked so incredulous that it was already cheering him up. “Cripes. I’m not sure I broke five feet before I was _sixteen._ ”

“Darling, it’s a shock you break five feet now – _no, not the book, I’m still injured-_ “

She put it down, eyes still gleaming in warning. “So did you meet at school?”

Jareth shook his head. “Nah. I lived in one of those towns that used to be a lot bigger – Redwick Bush, it’s called, out southwest. It was really big during the Gold Rush, but it dried up long before I was born. There was a schoolhouse, but my dad didn’t bother sending me, and Maes’s family were ciganoj. So they didn’t hang out with gadjes for the most part anyway.”

“Gadjes?”

“Oh, non-ciganos.”

“I had no idea Hughes was a cigano! I thought they all travelled in those wagons,” Sheska said thoughtfully.

Jareth snorted. “Yeah, a lot of ‘em do. I did for a while-“

“WHAT.”

“It’s pretty cramped! But they’re cool, yeah. Vardos. That’s the thing about being cigano, though. The more you blend in, the less shit you get.”

“Ohh. Like with you being mixed?” she mumbled, a little embarrassedly.

“Pretty much. That’s actually why we started hanging out. That’s the problem with the purple eyes. Amestrians don’t have ‘em. And my dad never talked about his wife, because she’d picked up and left him. So there was just me, this weird mixed brat of a kid with Xingese eyes who would _not_ stop growing.”

Sheska chuckled, then covered her mouth. Jareth waved his hand at her. “No, no, please _do_ laugh. I still don’t know where I got the height from. He wasn’t that tall, and, you know, _generally_ Xingese people aren’t known for being tall.”

“Not generally, no. You and the Colonel seem dead set on proving that wrong.”

“What can I say? Race is made-up.”

Sheska moved her chair a little closer to him. He was feeling better all the time, actually. He didn’t realize how much talking about Maes was going to help. And, on top of that, it meant he got to tell Sheska a story, too.

“I have to say,” she sighed, “running away with your best friend in a vardo to the big city is _so_ romantic.”

“I mean, it was until we got there. Turns out West City mostly smells like factory smoke and fish.”

“Most stories stop being romantic after the end,” she pouted. “That’s why we stop there.”

That was a fair point. He felt like his life had been a couple different stories all knitted together. He even had different names to go with each part. “…Hey, uh, I still can’t really sit up long enough to use the phone. But can you check in on D- Solaris for me?”

Sheska gave him a soft look. “You don’t have to pretend for me, you know.”

“Old habits die hard. Just let her know I’m alright.”

She smiled at him – then leaned him and kissed him on the lips. It was the first time she’d actually done so since he’d come back to Central. “You _can_ be a gentleman. When you want to be.”

“I have to work at it.”

“That’s what makes it special.”

She left, giving him one last glance over her shoulder, and once she was gone, Jareth slumped back against the pillows. He hated being _this_ injured. The last time he’d been stuck in bed for this long had been right after Ishval, and at least that time, he hadn’t been alone – although, he debated, ‘better’ was a stretch.

It’d been a long time since that memory had come up.

* * *

“We can’t take off the cuffs until the trial is over, sir. I’m afraid the whole Black Ops division has been implicated.”

“Okay, sure, but Isaac-“

“Isaac is just as implicated as everybody else.”

“So we’re stuck in here, cuffed to the bed, with only each other for company, until the trial we can’t watch is over.”

“That’s correct, sir.”

He could almost laugh at the stupidity of it. Like he couldn’t pick the cuffs if he wanted to, anyway. At least they’d been treated. “Isaac, buddy. You holding up alright?”

“They’re going to scapegoat us.”

“We won their damn war for them.”

“State Alchemists did.”

“Then the person here with the most to worry about is me. Get that sour look off your face.” To tell the truth, Jareth was pretty worried. He would have preferred to be locked up with Diana. Or Zolf for that matter, but he didn’t know what Zolf had actually done to be put on trial in the first place. Diana was in a different room, not on trial, at least.

Isaac just glared at him. “Don’t tell me you’re fine with this.”

“You’re going to have to narrow that down.”

“Everything we did. And it ended with a city blown off the fucking map.” Isaac’s hands tightened in the cuffs.

Of course he wasn’t fine with it. But what were his options? He’d had a job, he’d done it. All he wanted now was to go home, maybe get a cushy job with less active danger and dread, actually see the benefits of the last four years.

“You spend too much time with Zolf,” Isaac said after a moment.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re better than this, Jareth. You and Diana. At the beginning of this war, I thought, perhaps these two will change something. But Zolf – you know there’s something missing inside of him. Or perhaps something there isn’t supposed to be.” Isaac fixed Jareth with his steely glare. “You listen to him too much.”

“He’s not _wrong._ ”

“That doesn’t make him right.”

A twinge of something uncomfortable and dark fluttered in Jareth’s chest. “Come on. All eight of us made it through this fucking war alive. That’s something to be proud of.”

“No, it’s not. Those aren’t odds we got from luck or destiny.” And Isaac’s gaze turned accusing. “Unless you’re proud of shooting those doctors.”

Jareth was seized with the sudden urge to break Isaac’s neck. Of course he wasn’t. Of course he wasn’t _proud_ of that-

- _gun barrel against the bottom of his neck, thinking about it, thinking about it, Zolf convincing him otherwise, kisses on the tips of his fingers, somebody else would have done it anyway-_

“If either of us get out of this alive, sane, or free,” Isaac continued, “I’ll count it as a miracle. And I’ll be putting that miracle towards making sure it never happens again.”

Days. They’d been there for days. And Isaac had softened a little, because Isaac was ten, fifteen years older than him. Isaac had shared stories about his hometown, and Jareth had talked a little about Redwick Bush, its _abysmal_ street planning, the abandoned houses at the edge of town where he and some of the other kids had played knucklebones and poker.

Isaac McDougal had planned a terrorist attack on Central maybe a year later. He’d gotten shot in the back of the head.

He’d been true to his word, at least.

* * *

The Beast was hungry, but he was stronger – at least for the moment. And, as it stood, he was also tremendously confused.

There was a girl lying face down in front of him. She wasn’t quite fully dressed. She’d made an _attempt,_ certainly. There was a button-down shirt and a skirt, and a man’s coat that didn’t fit her, but neither of those explained the tube in her chest that was currently squirting blood onto the dirt with somewhat lackluster energy, the splint on her hand, or the scalpel she was waving vaguely in his direction.

_Poor girl,_ Marcoh sighed.

_Hungry,_ Gluttony whined.

_Play?_ Alexander the dog woofed.

_She looks scared!_ Nina offered.

The Ishvalan was starting to think his body was a little too crowded. He nudged her hand with one foot. The scalpel waved enough to prove that she was alive and at least _partially_ conscious.

_“Invata nakab,”_ he grumbled out loud. He wasn’t in the mood to speak Amestrian.

_That looks like a pneumothorax tube that hasn’t healed. If you get her cleaned up I can tell you how to put the stitches back in to stabilize it._

He wasn’t in the business of saving people.

_Actually,_ Marcoh said with rather more cheer than he liked, _you did save several people at the Lab. I’m thankful for that. And you can’t just leave her here._

And he should have just left the doctor in pieces. Ugh.

_Tell her to put the pointy thing down,_ Nina demanded. _Otherwise she doesn’t get any snacks._

_I want snacks! I’m hungry!_

They were all grounded, but Marcoh wasn’t wrong. He bent down and glared at the girl. Then he lifted some of her hair from her face.

The scalpel dug into his hand. The ishvalan sighed, used his other hand to pull it out, waited for the wound to heal, and then continued what he was doing. She wasn’t Amestrian, that was for sure. So there was every chance there wasn’t any _point_ speaking Amestrian to her – but she wasn’t Ishvalan either. So either way, communication wasn’t going to work.

_You could always attempt non-verbal communication._

He picked up the girl in his arms, then threw her over his shoulder, ignoring the blood dripping onto his clothes and her fists beating weakly on his back. Also, the doctor sighing dramatically in the background.

_I MEANT some sort of gesture. Charades. An indication that you’re friendly?_

He actually replied this time, unable to keep the small smirk off his face. _If you have a problem with how I do things, Doctor Marcoh, you’re welcome to give it a try._

 _Don’t tempt me,_ came the responding grumble. _I have a sneaking suspicion I could take you for a drive if I really tried._

 _Hungry!!!_ The Beast complained.

_Also, please don’t feed her to this thing. Out of spite, if nothing else._

_Don’t worry, Doctor. There’s a deer carcass nearby that will do just fine._

He wasn’t looking, but the visual of Tim Marcoh squeezing the bridge of his nose with obvious, nauseated displeasure was vividly clear to him anyway – and deeply entertaining. Revenge came in many forms.

And as for the girl…

The Ishvalan had smelled the pond a while ago, and they came to the edge of it, rocks bordering it on three sides and throwing the freshwater spring into glorious shade. It was one of those little hidden beauties that Central’s rapid expansion hadn’t gotten to yet – in this case, the Ishvalan grumbled, because the land belonged to the railway company. He could hear the trains whirring by a little closer than he’d hoped for, but at least it meant they were away from the tunnels. Sloth wasn’t stupid. None of the tunnels were below the major railways – they couldn’t explain away _that_ kind of disaster.

He laid her down, and began unbuttoning her shirt –

_Have_ some _class,_ Marcoh urged, once again sounding very tired.

“ _Nekbeshai lawakhan_ ,” he complained, but he stopped, patting her cheek to try wake her up a little more instead. He supposed it wasn’t going to give the best first impression.

Then again, there was every chance she’d seen him on wanted posters, so he wasn’t sure there was much _point._

She still didn’t say anything, just fixed him with a steely glare. When he pointed at her shirt, she just shrugged it off, apparently completely shameless. When he pointed an internal _see?_ at Marcoh, the doctor just averted his eyes. Prude. Then she pointed at the tube, still not saying anything.

Well, they were going to have to communicate somehow. “I speak Amestrian, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She snorted. So she _understood_ it. Which didn’t explain why she wasn’t speaking it – but it wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with stubborn little jerks.

_There’s an Amestrian phrase about the pot and the kettle…_ Marcoh quietly mumbled. 

“Alright, so you understand me, at least.”

She reached into the pocket of her coat, pulling out a spool of surgical thread and a needle that was _definitely_ not sterile after that long in her pocket. Then she went for her side –

He stopped her with one strong hand. “Why don’t you let me do that?”

She tried to shove him away, with no luck. He managed to pin both her hands, but there was no way he was going to be able to sew her shut with one hand.

“Do you want my help or not-“

She shook her head.

“You are not going to survive if I let go of you. You understand that?”

She just glared at him some more.

_Let me eat her!_

Absolutely not. Although…

_If I promise to feed you right afterwards, will you work with me?_ He sighed, feeling a little defeated.

_But I’m hungry nowwwwww._

_Yes, but if you behave now, you get food later._

_Or, food now!_

He was getting a migraine. _No. Not food. This…_ He waved at the confused, still struggling girl. _Not food._

_Definitely not food?_

_Not food._

_…Fine._

He extended one shadowed limb out from underneath the bandages, and pinned her wrists to the rock. There. Now he had both hands free. All he had to do was get it back in place, and the splint on her hand probably _hurt,_ but it was less likely to kill her.

It only took a few minutes, but Marcoh chimed in again. _I think your plan has a flaw._

 _It has multiple. What-_ He glanced up. The girl wasn’t frozen in fear like he’d expected – which was, yes, a flaw, but at least kept her quiet. She was _furious._

“You’re sewn up now. So-“

Her foot met his face with a _crack,_ and she clawed her way free, going for the woods. It fucking hurt, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was –

_HUNGRY!_

-the shadows lashed out at her, pain disturbing his control over the Beast. The Beast needed food. It always needed food. Whenever it got food, it just wanted more food. It devoured, and devoured, and it wanted to devour him, too. Devour her.

He clutched the bandages over his chest, trying desperately to keep them closed. “GLUTTONY!” he barked. But the homunculus wouldn’t be so easily dissuaded.

The girl grabbed a twig – what was that going to do? – and clawed at the dirt, trying to embed the twig into it. No. No, she was –

The dragon. She’d drawn the circular symbol, the dragon with the wings, devouring its own tail.

Gluttony stopped, tentacles freezing in place.

“You _promised,_ ” the Ishvalan snarled at it. And like a misbehaving child, the shadows crept back where they belonged, caught with their hands in the cookie jar, caught testing the boundaries of their prison. It couldn’t conceive of the fact that he had no more control of the prison than it did.

The dragon. She knew the symbol. She wasn’t afraid of him because he was some unknowable terror.

“You’ve seen that symbol before.” She must have seen it on his tongue while he was talking, or perhaps just recognized the healing factor for what it was. Ishvala knew he looked nothing like the others.

She nodded, shakily.

“I apologize,” he said, as genuinely as he could. “I am –“ He was shaking just as much as her. He knelt down, Amestrian beyond him for a moment. He hated that damn language. Ishvalan didn’t come any more easily to him these days. Both of them were strangers to his lips. That was what he got for being an exile, he supposed.

She hadn’t turned and run. That was something. But the drawing made him wonder.

“You _can’t_ talk,” he said finally, putting the words together.

She winced a little – then shook her head.

“I see.” He still wasn’t sure how to say what he needed to. “I am… not like the others. Made the same way. Different results and – different loyalties.”

She didn’t trust him. That much was obvious – but she _wanted_ to. What had possessed her to flee into the night, obviously injured, half-treated? She’d been afraid, clearly – and she couldn’t even tell him why.

“Can you write your name for me?” he asked. He’d have to feed Gluttony soon, otherwise he wouldn’t even be able to sleep anywhere near her with any guarantee of safety. But this much, he wanted to know.

She frowned, then picked up the twig again, holding her injured left hand close to her and right hand carefully copying the lines of a name. J U L I E T, it spelled out. Huh. He’d thought perhaps she was a recent immigrant – but plenty of recent immigrants took on Amestrian names to fit in.

“You can write in Amestrian, huh?”

She shook her head, a little sadly. Just the one word, then. That was going to make things more complicated.

“I have to go. I’ll be back later.”

Juliet nodded briskly. He had no idea if she’d be here when he got back – but if she was, he had a lot to think about.


	31. I Know I'm Not The Only One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: societal homophobia discussed, coming-out anxiety, genocide/war crimes, drug abuse, underage….ish…? (okay, whoever gives me a consistently usable tag for the Sloth thing gets a cookie), sanism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …Alright, seems like the right place for this. If You’re Surprised That This Story Is AntiFa, You Haven’t Been Paying Attention. (But also, I can see why some people might be squinting, going “wait are you going there-?” and oh boy you have NO IDEA how far I’m going baby- I got big feelings about State Oppression.)
> 
> Very little in this fic concerning queer history, genocide, state oppression, racism, etc. has been made up. In fact, a lot of it is still happening; even in countries that are theoretically “past” the homophobia, at least legally, transphobia is still VERY present. (At the time I’m writing this, actually, the UK just very suddenly reversed its prior position on puberty blockers, leaving a lot of trans children in. Ironically. Exactly the same situation as Alex, without any fantasy-magic ways out. Fuck TERFs, by the way.) I don’t fault anybody for being surprised by this – even if you knew it in theory, fiction has a way of actualizing things for us emotionally.
> 
> I say this in part because while this pulls from both canons, tonally, I’ve always been much closer to 03. Homophobia in particular is a deep part of the plot for the next bit, and I know it can be hard to read. So, a few things:
> 
> -No character will die as a result of a homophobic, transphobic, ableist, etc. hate crime. Yes, even if the narrative comes really fucking close. There might be backstory deaths, but I’m loath to kill characters as it is, and CERTAINLY not like that. I do not make any such guarantees re: injury, unfortunately.
> 
> -This is, ultimately, a story about winning against oppression. My villains aren’t necessarily bigots (some of them are) but they’re people who benefit from and uplift systems of bigotry and oppression; so I can promise glorious comeuppance. It’s a long road, and fanfictions don’t always get finished – so this isn’t “oh I promise a happy ending” (although that too) – it’s also that this is about how marginalized characters feel. Not the assholes. It’s not just about the pain, and it’s never going to be just that.
> 
> -Demonizing characters is boring and not nearly as interesting as complicated multifaceted perspectives.
> 
> The song is by Tegan and Sara! Which I think goes quite nicely with the queer themes.

~31~

_I'm dragging you down with back-flips  
Do you even care?  
Keep the secret for me  
Something I can't share  
I wonder if someday, we'll just be a memory  
If we go off the track, will you wait for me?_

**_-I Know I’m Not The Only One_ **

Selim hated admitting when he was wrong. Which, he knew perfectly well, wasn’t exactly a rare trait in a teenage boy. He was _mostly_ self-aware about it. He had a big ego, and an absolute hatred of being humiliated, and he would have loved to pretend he picked them both up from Will, but he knew exactly where they both came from – as well as the assurance he couldn’t quite shake that he really, _really_ shouldn’t have to apologize if it turned out he was _right._

He glared through the kitchen window. Dad was cooking. He had his back to the window, so he couldn’t see Selim standing there – and it meant he had time to sulk. It didn’t piss him off when Will was right, but it pissed him off when _Will_ was telling him to get over things, and was entirely correct. Will, the paranoiac with a list of obsessive behaviour as long as his arm –

-okay, well, and an apparent actual cult stalking him. He should be nicer. He was just in a bad mood.

“Are you standing there all day or are you up to something?”

He jumped almost a thousand feet in the air, and turned around, hands in front of him. Pinako just puffed on her pipe, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “Your instincts are terrible. Also, this is _your_ house. What are you skulking for?”

_Bitch,_ he thought, uncharitably, mostly to get it out of his system. He didn’t hate her – or, he hated that he hated her, or something like that. He wanted her to like him, and was terrified that she would like him, and _could not stand_ that she had been good, better than him, and _chosen_ to quit. It stuck him, right in the place he tried to pretend didn’t exist, the conceited and bitter part that he could usually disguise as pride in his work. “I was… looking for you, actually.”

“…Oh?” She raised an expectant pair of eyes at him.

Selim crossed his arms and glowered at the ground for a while.

Pinako drove her cane into his foot, and he let out a hiss of pain, clutching it instinctively and almost falling over. “I’m not getting any _younger_ here, Selim.”

“For somebody under five feet,” he growled, “you are _very_ intimidating.”

“Haven’t you wondered why I get all my groceries half-price?” She was smiling, though. “Besides, you’re fourteen and make your boyfriend look _incredibly_ dainty. My height ain’t the only factor.”

Selim blanched and shushed her. “Not so _loud._ ”

She made a little ‘o’ with her mouth, then nodded. “Noted.”

…Shit. Maybe he _did_ have to like Pinako now. It had never occurred to him that Pinako wouldn’t be _nearly_ as traditional as his dad. Sure, she was loud, and bossy, but – well –

“You want to talk to me alone?” she offered.

“Let’s go with that,” he said, a little weakly. That hadn’t been on the docket. As far as he was concerned, he was going to bring up his interests to his father when he was thirty and conspicuously unmarried, and preferably on the other side of a phone from him.

Pinako looked sympathetic enough. She handed Selim her cane – he mused that she _probably_ mostly had it to prod uncooperative teenagers with – and opened the door, poking her head in. “King, I’m stealing your son for dinner.”

There was a slightly frustrated groan from the kitchen – but no complaints.

“Little do you know,” she added as she took his arm, “I’m making you cook.”

Selim chuckled a little, but mostly stayed quiet, lost in his own head as they started down the hill. It was one thing to know, intellectually, that you’d been an ass – but he still _felt_ snarly and nasty. He was just confused, too – and embarrassed, and – Ugh. He hated feeling that many things at once. Usually he could ignore his emotions and just _do_ things.

They reached her house – a small little cottage with an enclosed porch – and he stuffed his face half into his collar. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“For?”

“I haven’t… told Dad.”

Pinako opened the door and gestured him in, but he was just glad that she hadn’t immediately barraged him with “well, why _not?_ ” or something similar. Only once he’d had a cup of tea shoved into his hands and a box of cookies offered on the table – surprisingly grandmotherly, given Pinako’s… everything – did she actually say anything. “I’m supposin’ this chat means you’ve finally put to rest the idea that I’m stealing your father away with my feminine wiles.”

Selim had, unfortunately, just taken a sip of tea. He managed not to spray it everywhere, but it took _inhuman_ effort. He was _so_ glad that he got hints of emotions from other people, too, and not just Will – he could tell pretty easily that Pinako wasn’t angry. Mostly amused, with a bit of gremlin-like laughter in the background. “I never thought that,” he protested, not very convincingly.

“Uh huh. Do you think you’re the first kid to get your britches twisted because your ma or pa finally moved on?” She lit her pipe and stuck it into her mouth. It wasn’t pure tobacco she was smoking, thankfully – he still hated the smell – but something like sage.

“… _No,_ ” he protested again. Then grumpily sipped his tea. It wasn’t his fault. It had been him and Dad for a long time. And then he’d come back from school to find his dad had taken up _kissing_ again. It was weird.

“It’s pretty normal,” she said, not unkindly. “And I don’t blame you. After you ran off, King told me a little of what he told you. Your ma’s death messed you both up pretty bad.”

Selim swallowed. He hadn’t expected Pinako to _care,_ somehow. “…Yeah. I – Yeah.”

“He told you it was an accident at the time, right?”

He nodded, suddenly not trusting his voice.

Pinako was quiet for a little while. Then she said, “I lost my family in that war.”

Selim blinked in horror. He hadn’t – he’d known that Pinako had a family at one point, but he didn’t know what had happened to them. It was one of those things that floated around somewhere in his early memory, like his dad’s first wife, or that his mom’s father had a twin brother somewhere.

“Yuri and Sarah, the darlings – they were doctors. They went to Ishval, oh, fairly early on? Before they gave that awful order. Yuri was my son. And Sarah, she was… such a wonderful girl. They died there.”

“R-rebels?”

Pinako shook her head, hands shaking a little. She put her tea down – to hide it, Selim realized. More things he wasn’t supposed to know, or notice. “It was an Amestrian soldier who killed them – for treating Ishvalans.”

“ _What?_ ”

“They were aiding the enemy, you see.” The bitterness in Pinako’s voice was so cutting it could have poisoned crops. “And when I tried to tell my granddaughter Winry… well, she was only nine. Old enough to understand that it was terrible, to see all the soldiers still billeted here – not old enough to handle it.”

Selim thought about how Will had hurt himself, and hoped that the story ended differently. “What happened?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound as scared as he felt.

“She ran away. I never found out where to – she never came back.”

Selim’s empty cup shattered on the ground as his grip went slack.

_Oh._

Oh, _god._ “I – I didn’t –“

“Child, you didn’t _know._ That war tore apart everybody it touched. Your family, mine, even little Will and Alex’s. It’s no mystery that Hohenheim made himself scarce once the soldiers started passing through _here_ instead of farther East.” Pinako was smiling, though god, he didn’t understand _how._

Selim folded his hands in his lap, staring at the pieces of porcelain on the ground. _I should pick those up,_ he thought dully. The other emotions he’d been feeling had all shut themselves down -now he just felt _guilty._ He’d left on the spur of the moment, angry and feeling unappreciated – he hadn’t thought it through, and now that he was back, he’d been mostly ignoring it. But -

“Don’t you start. I can see the look on your face. You came _back,_ Selim. How do you think I know how much that boy of yours loves you?”

His cheeks went pink. Not just because she’d said it out loud – but because he’d _felt_ that guilt, so deeply, and he knew what happened when he felt things that strongly. He could feel Will listening in, even if he wasn’t sure how carefully or much attention he was really paying. “I…” He rubbed his arm, unable to do much more than blush. “He lectured me pretty hard. I deserved it.”

“We all need a crack over our skulls once or twice in our lives. It happens. I could never replace your mother, Selim, because just like Yuri and Sarah, she died doing something incredibly brave. Hell, I’m a coward in comparison.”

“Don’t say that about yourself,” he protested.

“Eh, cowards live to protest the next war. But it’s true.”

It was stupid and stereotypical and pointless – but hearing that _did_ make him feel better. It didn’t entirely undo the knot in his chest, but it helped. “Th-thank you. And, um. I’m sorry.” He winced. “I’ve been kind of an asshole, haven’t I?” For all that he’d been worrying about it, it seemed like the best thing to say.

“Yes. The apology’s appreciated.”

He laughed. “ _God,_ you’re blunt.”

“I’m too old for beatin’ around the bush. Speaking of which.” Her eyes glimmered a little. “What _is_ going on with you and William?”

Oh, to be a mouse. Or a bolt. Or something else with no mouth or problems. “Uh – we’re – friends?”

“And I’m the Prince of Aerugo.”

Damn it. He’d said too much to back up on this one now, hadn’t he. “I…uh… I’m bisexual. I think. I’m pretty sure. I’m mostly sure. Actually, I’m definitely sure.”

Pinako nodded. “It’s those damn boarding schools.” At his expression, she added, “That was a joke.”

“Right. Sorry. I’m… nervous.” He rubbed one of his hands on the back of the other. “Dad’s never even talked about me getting married, but he kind of _expects_ it, I think. But he’s never even asked if I have a sweetheart or a crush, and so I’m – I don’t even know how to tell him.”

“I don’t blame you,” Pinako sighed. “Times are changin’, but they’re changin’ _fast._ Twenty years ago, if you’d asked me about homosexuality, I’d have been much ruder. Now? I don’t really know.”

He felt his heart sink, just a little. “What, um… what changed?”

She lowered her pipe. “Mm. I lost my husband. More men started going off to war, more women started living together. I saw a woman in a film that – looked so beautiful, I thought I might understand. Marlene something. I settled down, just like every other cigana in these parts, and – well, ciganač culture’s pretty hidebound, and so is Amestrian, but you meet lots of people.” She glanced at him, eyes twinkling. “Like I said, times are changing. I didn’t see a camera until I was in my twenties, and I was thirty before I let anyone take a picture of me. Now there’s colour photos and films, and who knows what next?”

He nodded, feeling a little more heartened. “Will deals with… a lot of awful stuff.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. He’s a beautiful kid who should have been a girl. In my experience, that’s bad enough when you _aren’t_ a little bent. Only gets worse when you are.” Her face turned a little more serious. “Selim, you should know, though. Even before you talk to your father-“

“What?”

“Do you know what you’re signing up for?”

“What does that mean?” He felt a little defensive without meaning to.

Pinako sat carefully, and he could tell she was genuinely concerned. He wasn’t sure if that _helped,_ though. “You have a choice. And you can’t unmake it, not when you’re dealing with somebody as _public_ as William is. I know who you are, and so does your father. Millions of people don’t – and that’s a good thing.”

“I can show them, though…”

“You can try. But all that crap Will goes through? That’s going to be yours, too. It doesn’t matter how serious you are, or if you break up later in life – don’t look at me like that, you’re fourteen, it happens. You can’t close that door.”

Selim gripped the couch cushions. “So, what, I shouldn’t be in- in a relationship with him because some people will be awful?”

“It’s not just that. It’s still illegal to be a homosexual in Amestris. You can’t get married, or kiss in public, or even hold hands. It’ll be an open secret at best. You’ll deal with backlash onto your automail business, your family, your friends – possibly even criminal charges depending on who you piss off.”

“That’s _awful._ ”

“That’s the current state of things here.” The bitterness was back – and not at him. “And it isn’t a good thing. But you should know all of that, before you make any decisions about your life.”

Selim felt frustrated tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He’d never thought about it like that before. At boarding school nobody had _cared,_ because nobody thought past graduation, or when people went home. And Will – dealt with crap, but –

Will probably kept a lot of it from him, he realized. It wasn’t until recently that he’d gotten anything but the strongest feelings and physical pain. And for all of his bravery, all of the social norms he flipped off – Will still didn’t _tell_ people he was gay. He stayed in the closet.

“That’s not fair,” Selim said quietly. “Being with the person I l-“ He tripped up on the word, then made himself say it anyway. “-the person I love means I commit to going to war with the state?”

“More or less.”

He closed his eyes. “And you’re telling me this because my dad…”

“No, no. King went against Amestris once. He’s dedicated to the idea of the military, but he’s no unquestioning pawn. I’m telling you this because I don’t know how keen he’ll be about you taking on that war.”

“He wants me safe.”

“And so do I. Ideally, I want William safe, too – that little critter and his sister stole so many pies from my windowsill and then had the nerve to give me _feedback._ But his fate is out of my hands. Yours is still unwritten.”

He didn’t know what to do. Because there was the other thing that had been plaguing him. He’d _helped,_ in Lab 5 – he thought. He’d beaten the Slicer – well, Slicer Brothers. But then he’d become a load, something for Alex to take care of. He wasn’t an alchemist. And he could _fence,_ but that only helped sometimes. What if that just got worse?

“…Why is it still illegal? In the military…”

“Oh, well, the military plays by different rules, always has.” Pinako sipped the last of her tea, then put it down. “I think you should talk to King. I’ll be with you if you want me to be. When he reacts with concern, you’ll know where he’s coming from.”

Suddenly, he read the subtext. She’d known, perfectly well, that he hadn’t talked to Dad about it yet. And she knew how his father was going to react. “You two have already _talked_ about this,” he realized with a sinking heart. So much for the closet.

“Oh, not with any certainty. But he’s always known that you and Will were very close, and his efforts to, eh… encourage Will in a different direction haven’t worked particularly well.”

“He was trying to make Will _straight?_ ”

“When you put it that way, you make it sound much more malicious than he intended. But yes, I suppose, in a matter of speaking. At least give Will the tools to pretend.”

Finally, he knew the voice that would appear at some point or another chimed in. _I always figured that’s what he was doing, Sel. You don’t have to be pissed off. He means well._

Selim felt hopelessly out of the loop. Everybody but him seemed to know more about this than he did. Will, Alex, his _father-_ It was like he’d been living in some sort of little dream where he and Will could just operate like anything about them was normal. Everybody else had apparently known better, and that hurt almost more than the idea that they weren’t normal to begin with. Some part of him, perhaps, had wanted that kind of romantic courtship with growing feelings and a passion that wasn’t acknowledged until it was; but real life had other plans.

“I’ll talk to him,” he said, defeated. But Pinako wasn’t going to let him feel sorry for himself for long. She nudged the box of cookies towards him.

“No need to rush it, kid. Now, tell me about those automail designs of yours. I am _all_ ears.”

* * *

She had tucked the anger back into its cage, locked away until she next needed it – or when she next lost control. It wasn’t like with Lust, or their runaway sibling. Riza Hawkeye and Wrath had long been the same person, with a few vague, diverging memories – _that_ much she’d made sure of. It was a simpler process than that. She simply had to not get angry.

Which sounded easier than it actually was, she sighed, approaching Dr. Holland’s office. Pride was pouting again. He never _called_ it that. Lust’s death was… She was certainly shaken, in her own way. And Mustang was _furious._ He’d been tempted to kill Solaris himself, but he’d come up with a better plan – a way to keep her as an asset, break her of that annoyingly rebellious streak, and perhaps Elric as well. It was inconvenient, and it was messy, because now Solaris and her servants knew that they _could_ be killed, but more than anything else-

_He was OURS,_ she growled internally, then pushed that emotion back where it belonged. That part, Mustang couldn’t understand. There was a certain intimacy to being an elder – when you were around for somebody’s making. Maybe that was why she felt so much like she had to take care of Mustang. Maybe that was why Pride was so determined to take care of _her._

She opened the door to Holland’s office. He was there, chewing on what anybody else would have assumed was medication or gum – but she knew from the tinny smell that humans couldn’t detect that it was a Red Stone. “Really?” Riza closed the door behind her.

“It’s that or get absolutely miserably drunk,” Pride responded sourly, “and it’s not worth the amount of alcohol it takes. Besides, I’m well stocked. I can overindulge a little.” He glared at her, the older man’s skin he was wearing profoundly unsuitable. “What do you want?”

“There’s been a change in plans concerning the Flame Alchemist. Mustang thought you should-“ She paused. There wasn’t much point in a lie when Pride wouldn’t believe it anyway. “ _I_ thought you should know.”

“Figured. Bastard was going to try lock me out. What is it?”

She sat down and outlined the basics, keeping her composure as his face turned all the more stormy. Pride had never been comfortable with Mustang’s fixation on Solaris to begin with, which she found enormously frustrating given Pride’s personal history of inappropriate attachments, but she’d known from the get-go that this particular plan wasn’t going to go over well with him.

“Absolutely not,” he snapped when she was done.

“I don’t see why you’d object.” She did. She just didn’t need her own emotions getting tangled up in it. Although – “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t be happy to have Fullmetal out of the way.” _That_ was the part she didn’t understand.

“We need him as backup. Alex is a _decent_ sacrifice, but what if something happens?” It was a flimsy excuse, and they both knew it. If that hadn’t been the case, he wouldn’t have been avoiding her eyes, even if he was disguising it under a dramatic gesture.

“Fullmetal will still be usable.”

Pride snorted. “I see you haven’t the faintest idea what you’re actually talking about.”

_That_ rankled, even though it shouldn’t have. “Would you like to enlighten me? Or has your obsession with him finally tipped over into some sort of protective fantasy?”

The look in his eyes made it clear that she’d gone too far. Four hundred years of rage didn’t coalesce neatly, certainly not when it had gone badly before. “Wow. I knew Mustang had turned you into a bitch, but that’s a new low.”

“Don’t drag him into this-“

“ _Dammit,_ Liz,” he erupted, throwing himself backwards in the chair. “Fine. Whatever. This is a horrible idea, I’m not signing off on it or helping, the asshole will use my name anyway, but I’m not going to blow it either. Do what you want.”

She should have gotten up and left. Almost forty years, now, they’d been having this argument. Riza almost would have been able to handle it better if it’d been a lover’s spat, the type of thing humans modelled for her every day; but she knew what Pride’s romantic passions looked like, and they’d never been directed her way. He loved her the same way he loved Envy, a friend and a companion, a part of his family. And _Mustang_ was her – lover, she supposed. Again, not in the same way humans tried to construct it. There was no reason the two had to conflict. And yet, they did. Constantly.

“I’m sorry,” she said instead. “That _was_ too far. I’m used to you wanting him dead. That seems to have changed.”

He still gave her an unimpressed look, but he didn’t look ready to throw something at her anymore. “…I don’t know,” he admitted. “I made a mistake.”

“Where?”

“Being his therapist seemed like a great idea on paper,” he mumbled. And, almost as punctuation to his admission, he grabbed another Red Stone out of his pocket, popping it into his mouth with a frustrated growl.

_Ah._ This was making more sense now. Riza almost felt bad for him. Pride had probably the worst possible affliction somebody in their line of work could suffer from – an overabundance of empathy, which didn’t so much make him more _human_ as it made him more liable to make mistakes. Compassion, at least, was something you could turn off; she certainly had it in spades when she chose to. Empathy, on the other hand…

“You’ve been living in his head too much.”

“Shut up.”

She sighed. “You do this to yourself. You _know_ you overidentify-“

“Liz,” he sighed, “why do you think I’m locked up in my office chowing down on drugs?”

That was a good point. “I’m not saying anything new, then.”

“Not in the slightest.” He cracked a smile, which was nice to see. “You _have_ been getting on my case about this for, what, three hundred and seventy years now?”

“Something like that.” This was… a real conversation. Had he forgiven her? Usually they started fighting about Mustang and didn’t stop.

“Sloth’s started doing it too,” he grumbled, half-collapsing onto the desk. “I’m getting told off by a goddamn _toddler._ ”

“Sloth is more than a toddler and you know that,” she teased.

“I’ll keep calling her a toddler if it keeps convincing her to stop hitting on me.”

It was so completely unexpected that a laugh burst out of Riza’s mouth, and she covered her mouth, stifling it. “I’m – I’m sorry, run that by me again?”

“Oh, what, you hadn’t heard about that one? He really _does_ keep you away from the others.” Pride sat up before she could decide whether or not to let that one slide. “Yeah, uh – Sloth might have a preteen _body,_ but she absolutely has a grown-up sex drive, and she’s decided to come after me. Apparently the shapeshifter thing is a turn-on.”

“Oh _no._ ”

“Even if I was particularly inclined-“ he pulled a face, because Riza knew perfectly well that he _wasn’t,_ “-there’s something about being aggressively pursued by a horny nine-year-old that’s just. No. Absolutely not.”

She was going to get the giggles, and she _hated_ it. So much for emotional control. “I mean – it could be worse?”

“How?” he drawled. “I mean, I suppose it could be somebody I hated. I love Sloth dearly. I just need her to keep it in her pants. Apparently she and Lust-“ Then he let out a sigh. “Fuck. You know, I’d forgotten for about two, _glorious_ seconds.”

The Red Stones were going to his head a little. It wasn’t the worst thing, but it definitely meant she felt all the more straight-laced next to him. She was extremely careful with hers; emotional control was hard enough on the minimum dose. “I’m sorry.”

He gave her a baleful look. “Loosen up for two secs. You knew him just as long as I did.”

_Loosen up._ Like it was that easy. “…It’s a shame.”

Pride snorted – and to her slight alarm, popped another Stone into his mouth. How many had he had? “Shame he didn’t fuckin’ get his shit together. Also, I would die of embarrassment if it was a choice between that and getting killed by the Flame Alchemist.”

“I think you’ve had enough of those.”

“I think I am having a _grand_ time, considering that I’m actually feeling sorry for the little psychopath who stole my life-“

“ _Edward._ ”

He froze, almost instinctively melting back into his preferred form. That was how she knew he’d _definitely_ had too many. Then he looked away from her again, humiliation glowing on his cheeks. “I hate this,” he said quietly. “I just keep losing people. And our siblings are supposed to be the ones we _don’t_ lose.”

She knew, with a pang, that she was one of the ones he’d lost. “There’s just over a year left. And at least we’ve got Alex.”

“That’s true,” he admitted. “Is it weird that I like him?”

“I haven’t met him yet.”

“Oh, he’s _good._ He’s a snarky little wretch. Things would have worked out a whole lot better if the two of them had been switched.”

“For them, perhaps,” she said. “This works out pretty well for us.”

“Right. Mustang’s _plan._ ” Pride pulled another face. “I still hate it.”

“I’ll pass on your concerns.”

Another shadow passed over his face. They’d almost been friends again. Almost been normal. “Yeah, go ahead and do that. I’ll kick him in the face later.” He hesitated. “Anything you’re not telling me, Liz?”

_Yes,_ she thought. “Nothing important,” she replied. “You?”

“Nothing important,” he said back. Which meant, _yes._

So, business as normal.

* * *

It’d been three days, and Will boarded the train to Forcett, doubt coiling in his gut. Izumi, Lyra, Fletcher, Mei – they were all _safe,_ at least for now. And even in those few days, Izumi and Mei had worked out some stuff together with alkahestry to stabilize some of the strange behaviour with Mei’s body. He didn’t know the details, He’d been trying not to throw up with anxiety.

He’d always known it was a possibility that he’d be called into a combat situation. Plenty of the situations he dealt with turned _into_ combat situations as it was; but chasing the Phantom Thief through Aquroya or facing off with Cornello didn’t seem comparable to something that sounded like it wanted to be a war.

Plus –

Plus, Ishval had been bad enough, and he stabilized his shaking hands in his lap, trying to forget what he’d overheard in the Dublith grocery store. Lior. The town he thought he’d saved.

_Don’t think about it._

“The East is a mess,” they’d sighed. “More trouble with rebels. Which town was it this time – Lior? First since Ishval to get that bad, they said.”

“It was all over a religious dispute, apparently. Something about a priest. The military got it settled, but you know how it is, by the time the dust settles, who’s left standing?”

And here he was being sent to another border town.

_Don’t fuck it up,_ he begged himself. It was a good thing he hadn’t had a radio, otherwise he would have started searching through it for news of every other town he’d been to in the last year, desperate for confirmation that they were _safe,_ that he hadn’t destroyed them in his wake –

(He hadn’t. Xenotime, though he didn’t know it yet, had finally given up on their gold mines; Aquroya was still sinking, but slower for the intervention of interested tourist alchemists; Youswell even wondered if Lyra would come home sometimes, a little guilty about how they’d treated her attempts to reform, although to be fair, she had been awfully _bad_ at it. But he didn’t _know._ )

Will closed his eyes. What had he done wrong in Lior? He hadn’t _meant_ to fuck it up. But what was he supposed to do? Leave Cornello in power? (Rose. Was Rose alright? They hadn’t gotten along, but-)

Instead, a series of disconnected thoughts came to mind. Izumi - _…a state system actively built on oppression._ He’d never gotten around to getting an explanation of what that meant. It was her usual rambling that she did sometimes, complicated language that had nothing to do with alchemy. But –

Armstrong. _We were ordered to wipe them out._

Solaris. _We do what we’re told._

The conversation Selim had had with Pinako – the one he wasn’t supposed to be listening to – _It was an Amestrian soldier who killed them._

He couldn’t just leave or get off the train. Not just because they’d court-martial him; because they’d just send somebody else, wouldn’t they? Fuhrer Mustang, the same man who’d found his fight with Solaris so entertaining, who moved men around like chess pieces, would sign off on another State Alchemist to go kill people in the name of Amestrian freedom, and Will would… god. Who _knew_ what they’d really do to him?

_Being with the person you love means going to war with the state._ Pinako hadn’t been wrong, and he rubbed his automail thumb over his palm, lost in thought. But the state was at war with everyone. Even itself. So what then?

He still didn’t know what he’d do when he got to Forcett. He might make the wrong decision. But – he glanced up at the hazy illusion across from him, not Trisha this time, but a hazy silhouette of Alex as he had been, watching Dublith fade away – it wouldn’t be a careless one.


	32. Mountains of Mourne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: emotional abuse, parental abuse, gaslighting, anti-sex worker sentiment, classism through accents, discussed racism, injury/medical, grief issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> British readers are probably trying to puzzle out where exactly it is I’m pulling Diana and Jareth’s accents from; the slang itself is definitely a little scattered, but for the most part, West City accents are a mix of Scouser and Brummie. Jareth’s is thicker and further into the Brummie side because he grew up in Redwick Bush, whereas Diana like Georgie is a Scouser. (Liverpool and Birmingham, for non-Brits.) I’ve tried to walk a line between writing out the accents entirely (nope) and completely translating them; Diana and Jareth code-switching is an important part of their characters, plus I like the worldbuilding, so I’ve mostly kept certain pieces of slang and left it up to people to “hear” the accent themselves. If you’re curious about Scouse and Brummie accents, the Beatles are famously from Liverpool, while Ozzy Osbourne is from Birmingham.
> 
> ‘Mountains of Mourne’ is actually a period song! It’s a classic Irish song that was written sometime before WW1 by Percy French. The most famous version is by Don McLean, but a more classic version that’s something like what Jareth is playing is by Tom Roush: https://youtu.be/3nsg8zJjY5g The full lyrics are on the video, but essentially, it’s about an Irish lad seeking his fortune in London and wanting nothing more than to go home.
> 
> This is a very sad chapter, I’m sorry! Melancholy I suppose is the right phrase; lots of heavy feelings. I’m taking this part of the fic to linger on some emotional beats before shit starts building up again.

~32~

_But if of those roses you venture to sip,  
The colours might all come away on your lip,  
So I'll wait for the wild rose that's waiting for me  
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea._

_- **Mountains of Mourne**_

****

“Solaris. My name is Diana Solaris. Diana Solaris.” She kept practicing it in the mirror. Not just because of the name – because her accent kept slipping at the corners, pulling her back into the West City drawl. So-la-ris. She’d probably never fully convince anybody that she was a Centralite, but she was going to sound the part.

“Though. Back. Laugh.” She banged her head – lightly – against the mirror. “ _Proper.”_ Not _propa._ Not _pruppa._ She hadn’t hated her accent until she’d pulled it apart, understood the difference between it and what “proper” girls sounded like. If you were from West City, it was fine. If you _sounded_ like you were from West City, it meant you were from the slums. And they didn’t feel like fucking slums when you lived there, but that was what everybody else thought they were.

Not for the first time, Laura – _Diana –_ wondered if it was worth it. Laura Kwan hadn’t had a future – or at least, she hadn’t had a big, shining, real one. She’d been destined to be a brothel girl for the rest of her life, singing in Madame Christmas’s lounge in the afternoons, entertaining men on her backs or her knees in the evenings. And that had been _fine._ As far as dead ends went, it wasn’t the worst one, and people could whine about “lives of sin” all they liked, she _enjoyed_ sex, and men behaved a good deal better when you had a stiletto dagger conspicuously displayed on the back of your door.

But the fact remained. She hadn’t had a _future._ And then she’d thrown herself headfirst into trouble, the kind of trouble that only went one of two ways; you changed the world in a wonderful, fiery, blaze of glory, or you died in a ditch. And that was an even more miserable dead end. So there was this. This or nothing. Changing the world in another way, protecting people through another avenue, at the cost of everything she was.

To her horror, Laura realized she was crying. Bloody _maudlin,_ that was. It wasn’t until she scrubbed the tears from her eyes and sat up that she realized that Maes was behind her.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “The door was open.”

As cruel as it was, she would have preferred Grant. Jareth, his new name was. She liked it – it was just going to take some time to get her tongue used to it. “Go away,” she grumbled.

“Di, you know I-“

If he hadn’t used the new name, she probably wouldn’t have been so _fucking_ mad. “How come you don’t have to do this, huh?”

“I _told_ you, I-“

“I know, I know. You’re not the one who’s in trouble with the mob.” She turned back to the mirror. “And I’m sure _Jareth_ is just glad to get rid of Dad’s name.” That wasn’t fair to say, either, because he _was._ She wasn’t upset that she hadn’t known Mordred Haberkorn. She was just upset that she’d never _had_ a father at all. “Meanwhile I’m here trying to figure if I can bother hiding being Xingese at all. That’s fine! Everything is _fine,_ Maes, so piss _off._ ”

“You’re getting better at the accent.”

Normally, she found Maes’s unflappability charming. Today? Not so much. “Can you no’ _get a hint?_ ”

“No,” he said, still sitting on her bed, almost smiling but not quite. “I’m just ignoring it.”

“I hate you.”

“Look, you can lash out at me all you want. And if you genuinely want _space,_ sure, but you have to ask me like an actual person, not a kid throwing a tantrum.”

In a fit of petulance, Laura picked up the hairbrush from the desk and threw it at Maes. It bounced off his temple, and he immediately collapsed backwards on the bed.

“Maes?” He didn’t respond. “Oh, you little shit –“

She flew over to the bed. Just in case. No way was he actually – she hadn’t thrown it _that_ hard. But he was splayed out on his back amid the books they were using to study for the entrance exam, and didn’t even respond when she climbed onto the mattress. “Come on, Maes, I’m sorry. I was being a bellend. I’ve got a real co – I’m real frustrated and mad. And I know for a damn _fact, Maes,_ I didna knock yer lights out with a mingin’ _brush!_ ”

Maes promptly stuck his tongue out the corner of his mouth with an exaggerated expression.

“You absolute tosspot.”

“You can’t be going around calling people tosspots, Di. If you _really_ have to cuss out your senior officers, you need to be a proper educated lady and call them jerks.”

She sighed. “Bollocks,” she allowed herself one last _real_ swear.

Maes picked up one of the textbooks and promptly smacked her on the head with it.

“Ow!”

“Turnabout’s fair play. Also, I get that this sucks. I do. Yell, scream, do whatever you have to do to get it out of your system.” He sighed. “But Diana, you deserved better than what you were getting.”

“Don’t you-“

“I’m _not_ insulting Christine. I would never do that. I love her and she’s doing the best with what she’s got. And I a- I’ve got no bone to pick with sex work. But _you-_ “ Maes started to grin. “I mean, god, you have a mind that could bring this nation to its knees. You deserve the _option_ to do more with it.”

Phrased like that…

Diana sat up, bouncing a little sulkily on the mattress still. “I feel like I’m betraying Ayi,” she admitted with a sigh. “Like I’m _too good_ for her or somethin’.”

“Even if you weren’t, you know, running for your life, I think she understands. You think she doesn’t know how smart you are?”

“Everybody else there is smart too,” Diana shot back. “They aren’t hookers because they’re _stupid,_ Maes.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, a note of apology in his voice. She could get why he was being careful. Both he and Grant had trouble understanding why she was so defensive of her home. Jareth had said something about ‘rescuing’ her once and she hadn’t _hit_ him, because he’d been mostly joking, but the glare she’d fixed him with had made him shrink so far into his seat she was pretty sure he’d lost two inches of height. They thought sex work was something you did because you were forced to, or because you had no other options.

“…If I ever get higher than Lieutenant,” she said firmly, “I’m giving them jobs. If they want them. Like you said. It should be a _choice,_ right?” Because that was the problem – Maes wasn’t _wrong,_ either. Once you were a whore, the idea that you would ever be anything _else…_

Well, too fucking bad. She was a whore, and she was an alchemist, and she was – fate willing – going to be a soldier. If she passed the exam. If she was good enough. And if, for the love of Pete, she could stop saying ‘bollocks’.

* * *

Diana stood in front of Jareth’s door, trying to summon up the courage to knock. _Just fucking knock. Stop avoiding him._ There was something terrible about knowing yourself well enough to know why you were doing something, and still not being able to convince yourself to change your mind.

_Come on,_ she urged herself. She had done everything she could do. She’d sent Falman on his covert mission. Havoc and the others were chasing what leads they had on the Beast, which were… very few. But at least it would keep Mustang happy. And she’d passed by the shop on the way here, slipping a flask of scotch into her pocket, but she hadn’t _drunk_ any of it, which was progress. She wasn’t an alcoholic. She was just… struggling. It was a worthy distinction, she thought. Alcoholics needed alcohol. If she had no access to alcohol, she was just as likely to use something else.

She was so, so, _so_ angry at him still. She couldn’t shake the feeling she’d had down in the underground city, the empty place she could still feel under her feet. But she loved him. She loved him so much it hurt, and they were all the other had.

She knocked. There was a long pause; finally Jareth’s voice slunk out from the other side, “Just… let yourself in. I hate being injured.”

She let out a small laugh, then opened the door. The lights were on all through the apartment, and she could see the evidence of Jareth’s cleaning – brown bags holding empty cans and other garbage, a pile of sweepings that hadn’t been gathered up yet, even a scrap of towel still lingering on the still-wet kitchen countertop.

Diana took a step in, then glanced down at the floor between the kitchen and the bedroom where Jareth was lying, his face sulky and frustrated. “…You know, being injured will be less frustrating if you stay in bed.”

“If they wanted me in bed, they shoulda kept me in hospital,” he shot back at her. He didn’t have a shirt on, so she could see the dressing on his wound, bandages mostly but not entirely concealing the rawness of the burnt skin on his side. “Ugh. I’ve been standing for way too long as it is.”

She offered a hand to help him up; at first, she thought he was ignoring it, but once he’d gotten his feet under him, he took her hand for actually lifting himself up. “Thanks,” he sighed. “I don’t make a good invalid. Give me a sec.”

He leaned heavily on the wall to get back into the bedroom, then eased himself into the bed. He’d set it up so he could reach the most important things with his _left_ hand, Diana realized. On his right side, the only thing really there was his gramophone.

“Does… it hurt a lot?” she asked.

“Hurts like a _bitch._ But burns are like that when they’re healing. Apparently internally I’m doing much better than I have any right to be.”

“I see.” She hovered somewhere between his bed and the entryway, hyperaware that she was trapped between too many worlds at once. _I’m not good at this part,_ she thought helplessly. The ‘after’. It was Jareth, usually, who waited for Will to wake up at the hospital, or who comforted _her_ when something went wrong, and certainly not in so many words; having somebody there was enough. Jareth turned to other people when he needed comfort, most of the time.

Except – except this time, she wanted, _needed,_ something. Not comfort. She would, first, have to put into words what she wanted to be comforted over. She needed to comfort him, over… what, having almost died? What else was new? Making herself do something she was bad at wasn’t going to help _anybody._

Jareth watched her carefully, violet gaze making her feel all the more exposed. “Are you mad at me?” he asked. It was such a plaintive question, said so directly, that she didn’t know how to respond.

“No, no, I’m just – I –“ She sat down on the chair next to his bed. “Do you have somebody staying with you? Just in case?”

“Shes has been in and out. You’ve been avoiding me.”

Diana flinched. She flinched, and he saw it, which meant there wasn’t a whole lot more she could do to push it all under her mask. _Keep it together. Remember what Mustang said._ She had to stay disciplined, and in control, because one wrong word, one wrong move –

“Diana, come on. Look at me.”

She did so, and knew it was a mistake right away. The look on his face – _god._ He was so worried, and so concerned that it was _him_ who was the problem, and so gentle, eyebrows raised just enough to make him look questioning when it was a request for – for _validation_ or acknowledgement – and she had nothing to offer, _nothing,_ because every time she tried she kept thinking about how Lust’s face had cracked open under her fists, and how for a breathless moment, she had been alone. Maes had been gone. Jareth had been gone. And she had been plunging into the darkness with nobody in the world left who remembered, who _knew_ her-

Her eyes felt strange. She lifted her gloved hands to them, scrubbed, and her fingers came away wet. “I don’t…”

Jareth’s hand closed over hers, the warm pressure grounding even through the fabric. And she couldn’t stop _crying._ It was like she was eighteen again, heart ready to cave under the pressure, except she was an adult now, and this was what she’d _wanted._

“I thought I’d lost you,” she managed to say after a moment. It sounded so _stupid_ out loud. Like a kid calling for her mother. Like a little girl. “I thought I’d lost you too, and at least – at least Maes, people _knew_ we were close, but I couldn’t…” She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but that just made it worse. “I don’t know how to grieve, Jareth. I don’t _know_ how. And I wouldn’t even be able to cry over you where anybody could see.” Like a kid reaching for her mother.

Jareth’s hand left hers, and for a moment, she felt like she was drowning – but then his fingers swept over her scalp, brushing her hair out of her face. Then he reached over to the gramophone.

“Jareth?”

“Stupid finicky thing,” he sighed. “I – I know I can’t tell you much. I mean, _god,_ you’re the smart one. Always have been. But…” He finally got the record into place, needle clicking down, and the music filled the room. Not too loud, but enough to already make her feel better. She knew the song, vaguely – but this kind of music had always been more of Jareth’s thing, so she didn’t know the name.

_Oh Mary, this London’s a wonderful sight  
with people here working by day and by night  
they don’t sow potatoes nor barley nor wheat  
but there’s gangs of them diggin’ for gold in the street…_

Carefully, Jareth got out of bed. He winced a little, but once he was standing, he seemed alright. Still, she held back, until he reached down and took her hands.

“Come on, Di. I missed out on my dance before. Don’t hold out on me now,” he said with a smile.

She wiped the tears away from her face, still scared that if she touched him, he’d disappear. But she let him pull her up and to his chest, her head nestling into the crook of his shoulder. She tugged her gloves off after a moment, and the touch of his bare hand on her skin _helped._ It almost hurt – she kept her hands covered almost all the time – but she wanted that.

Jareth’s arm wrapped protectively around her waist, his feet falling into steps. There was just enough space in the corner of his bedroom to make it work.

_I believe that when writing, a wish you expressed  
As to know how the ladies of London were dressed…_

“I can’t remember the last time I actually listened to a record,” Diana sighed. “When did I get so _boring?_ ”

Jareth chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You are _many,_ many things, but boring has never been one of them.”

“I just…miss not having to deal with all of this. And especially now, after-“ She couldn’t manage to talk about Maes more than she already had. “It’s hard to feel like it’s worth it.”

“Mm, I can think of a lot of improvements from the West City slums already.”

“Oh?” She was just encouraging him at this point.

“Well, we’re _rarely_ woken up by gunshots, and when we are, we get to go arrest the people who did it.”

“That’s… a good point.”

_And tho’ by the Saxon we once were oppressed,  
Still I cheered, God forgive me, I cheered with the rest_

Jareth hummed thoughtfully along with the song. “We can drink the water straight from the tap. That’s nice. Although I’m in _trouble_ if I ever go back and have to remember,” he said ruefully.

She didn’t mean to laugh, but she’d _forgotten._ “Oh god. Remember when it was just red for two weeks?”

“One day those pipes are finally going to rust to pieces and I, for one, can’t wait to watch.” Jareth cheerfully spun her around in a little pirouette. “And I might miss Aunty, but I _don’t_ miss her neighbours.”

Those she hadn’t forgotten – it just had been an _awfully_ long time. “What did we call them, again? Miss Magpie, Miss Vulture and…”

“Miss Crow. Who, by the way, is the one who decided I was a juvenile delinquent.”

“Be fair,” Diana pouted at him. “She wasn’t _wrong._ ”

“W-well, _no,_ but she _poked_ me! With her cane!”

She was still crying, she realized. But it felt…different. Oh, blast it. Maybe crying _did_ help. “Maes managed to flatter them enough to get on their good side, at least. Think they’re still alive?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure they weren’t nearly as old as we thought they were.”

“God no. Imagine how we would have reacted to knowing we’re almost _thirty._ ” Diana slid her hand down from Jareth’s shoulder to his chest. “…I miss him. So much.”

“Me too. I don’t – I never imagined this part without him. I don’t know what to do.”

“I guess we’ll figure it out,” she sighed, and closed her eyes, listening to the thud of his heartbeat against her.

_There’s beautiful girls here, now never you mind  
With faces and shapes nature never designed_

“Oh, by the way,” Jareth teased. “I hear you finally jumped Havoc.”

“- _how did-_ I was-“ Diana stared up at him with a reddening face. “I usually have much better self-control.”

Jareth laughed and pulled her back to him. “Ah, he came to visit and got so squirrelly that I got it out of him. He was still half convinced I was gonna kill him.”

“Do you think I made a mistake?”

He shrugged. “We’ll see. I like him, though. I’m more worried about getting jealous that you get to shag him and I don’t.”

“You are _incorrigible_.”

“Yeah, but I’m yours.” 

_So I’ll wait for the wild rose that’s waiting for me  
Where the Mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea…_

For the first time in – she wanted to say weeks, but in _months –_ Diana felt herself relax. Actually relax, not just take her mind off things for a while, not distract herself from the latest crisis for a while. She felt herself drift off, and didn’t complain when Jareth nudged her into the bed; she didn’t complain, either, when he took the flask of whiskey out of the pocket of her jacket, and disappeared into the kitchen with it. She could hear, faintly, the sound of him pouring it down the sink, and she knew it wasn’t any easier for him than for her. They weren’t twins, but they still managed to be mirrors, with similar vices, similar weaknesses, similar strengths. And by the time Jareth was done wrapping a new bandage around his middle and climbed back into his bed, she was fast asleep.

“I love you,” she might have heard – or it might have just been a memory or a dream sneaking in behind her eyelids. Either way, it was true.

* * *

Mei Chang had visited Izumi before, with the boy called Fletcher by her side; they’d brought her the medicine that treated the worst of her symptoms. It wasn’t perfect; nothing could really treat having half of your organs missing. But it helped treat the inevitable consequences. Without it, Izumi would _live,_ but it wouldn’t be a pleasant life; before her mother had caved and agreed to help her with the treatment, she’d suffered outbreaks of fever, fatigue, diarrhea, itching, and worst of all – the _pain._ Good days meant she could walk around and mostly ignore it. Bad days with the medication were limited, thankfully, to being bedridden for two or three days at a time and barely able to think, and more and more rarely all the time as she and Sig slowly figured out what her new digestive system could and couldn’t handle. But bad days _without_ the medication had almost turned her into an opium addict… and tempted her with suicide.

So when the body of Mei Chang showed up on Izumi’s doorstep again, she knew what to fear. She’d been readying herself for it. It didn’t quite prepare her for the actual moment.

“Hello, dear,” Dante said from red-painted lips, twirling the purple parasol over her head. She was wearing one of Izumi’s old dresses, one of many things she’d left behind – a white, silky thing with a layer of chiffon over top and a flower pattern around the waist.

“…Mother,” Izumi replied. “You don’t usually come in person.”

“You’re rather unsurprised.” Dante didn’t seem startled at all; at worst, mildly upset that she hadn’t managed to shock her daughter. Certainly the plunging neckline (which had _not_ been that revealing before) was a little much, but Izumi kept her composure anyway.

“I’m used to your theatrics.”

“Theatrics?” Dante _did_ make a small little moue of disappointment at that one. “I wanted to come see you.”

“Well, now you have.”

“Is this any way to treat your mother?”

“You aren’t my mother,” Izumi shot back, a surge of triumph shooting through her that she’d _finally,_ finally been able to say it. Then she closed the door.

Dante’s foot blocked the door from closing. “I’ll take a lot of things from you, Izumi, but I won’t take rudeness.” She pushed the door back open. “And from the sounds of it, you’ve been sitting on some resentment for a _very_ long time. So you can send me away, and be proud of yourself until you need your next dose, or you can listen.”

Izumi didn’t look away from her, refusing to betray that the kids were in the next room. But she had to trust that they’d heard her. “Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll make you some tea.”

“How dull. You don’t have any cognac?”

“I don’t drink, Mother,” Izumi replied as Dante walked in, slipping off her shoes at the entryway.

“Well, you should keep some on hands for guests anyway. Although I suppose a number of your guests are students. You can’t trust a teenager to appreciate proper liqueur.”

Like that was going to work. “I wouldn’t know. Will apparently only drinks cheap beer, which is frustrating for _many_ reasons.”

“Will-? Oh, yes, your little protégé. No chance he’s still here? I would have liked to meet him.” Dante collapsed onto Izumi’s leather couch, folding up her parasol and making herself comfortable. It was disturbing, Izumi thought with no shortage of revulsion, how a fourteen-year-old could look well into her twenties if you strapped her into a bustier, applied makeup and had her walk and talk with all the self-absorbed assurance of a woman far, far too old to care. “Although I doubt you tell your students about me.”

“I prefer to keep it to myself that you and I are related, yes.”

Dante put an elbow on the back of the couch, looking back at Izumi who was still standing. “You’re still so _angry_ with me. Come, dear, sit down. I _know_ you can’t stand for that long without paying for it.”

Izumi desperately wanted to say something, anything, back to that – but she was right. She sat down in her usual chair, staring down the parent who was now _younger_ than her. “…So. Go ahead. Explain.”

“Explain what, Izumi?” Dante said with an almost bored tone. “The mind-reading games were excruciating enough when you were a teenager.”

Izumi folded her hands on her lap, and behind the screen of her fingers, pushed her thumbs together with so much force it hurt. She hadn’t lived with her mother for twenty years, and she _still-_

She had to keep her temper. She’d lectured Will on this enough times. “Forty-two years. That’s how long you had your previous body. Right?”

Dante simply returned Izumi’s grey stare with a charcoal one, unreadable and static.

“I was maybe three years old. My father had gone into the city, so it was just you and me, but when I woke up, you weren’t there. I’d had a nightmare, or something. And I curled up and waited for you. When you came back, you were… stumbling.” Izumi paused.

“I don’t see why this struck you as so unusual.”

“You stumbled in, and you looked at everything – the fireplace, the pot, the bed you shared with Father, everything, _everything_ in that tent. I was sitting on the bed waiting for you to look at me. And when you did – you looked so surprised. Like you’d never seen me before.”

Dante waited, looking unimpressed. “That’s it? That’s your memory that you want to condemn me with? You were _three._ I hardly think you remember it well.”

“And yet here you are, in some teenager’s body.”

She smiled a little. “And yet here I am.”

“You can’t manipulate your way out of this one, Dante.” Izumi leaned forward. “What happened to my mother?”

“Well, dead, of course. You didn’t think there was another answer to that?” Dante sounded confused, but it was just as likely that it was another game she was playing. “I’m more curious as to why some woman from forty-two years ago counts more as your mother than I do.”

“She loved me.”

“She was a tradition-bound woman trapped in a life she hated. She loved you because she was told to.”

“So you killed her?”

“More or less.” Dante actually looked a touch regretful. “If we’re doing away with pretense entirely, I suppose the truth makes me sound better-“

“-how could _anything_ make you sound-“

“I was dying. And she knew that.” Dante sighed and met Izumi’s eyes. “Do you remember the riders bringing in a dying woman?”

She did, actually. Very vaguely – she’d been so young – but it had never occurred to her that it had happened at the same time as the change in her mother. “Only somewhat.”

“I’d been attacked by raiders. It’s a good thing your parents never let you anywhere near me – I was a _horrible_ sight. And your mother said she would help me.”

“That could have meant _anything!_ ” Izumi snapped. “There’s no way she knew-“

“-that I meant to take her body? Probably not. But it was that or die there, in a tent that smelled of yaks and horsehair.” Dante curled her lip slightly, and Izumi knew there was no way her mother had consented, no way she had known –

-because Dante, for all her cruelty, wasn’t entirely wrong. Izumi wondered what it would have been like, trying to explain her passion for alchemy to Nomin as she had been. She didn’t even remember anything about her. She just had vague memories of her extended family, the feeling of yak’s wool in her fingers, and a horse galloping across the endless Tsetserleg plains with her astride, somebody pressed to her back. Would she ever have been happy there? She didn’t know – because she’d been deprived of the chance to find out.

“So you took her body. And you didn’t know she had a kid.”

“I’m sure she mentioned it at some point, but I wasn’t paying attention. Imagine my surprise to come home to a little bright-eyed thing.”

“You didn’t want me.”

“Not at first, but-“ Was Izumi imagining it or did Dante’s face genuinely soften? “I’ve had sons in other lives. Never a daughter. I didn’t know what I was missing out on.”

No. No, she refused. No. No, she wasn’t going to-

“I’m sure you’ve settled on your opinion,” Dante said with a sigh of disappointment, “but I genuinely did my best with you, Izumi. We might disagree, but that doesn’t mean I don’t l-“

“What are you doing with Alex Elric?”

Dante stopped mid-word. “Oh, I see. We’re doing _this._ ”

“Let him go.” 

“Let him- oh, dear.” Whatever softness Dante had managed was gone. “Izumi, dear, he’s with me of his own free will.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“You know as well as I do that your protégé might be skilled with alchemy, but there isn’t a force in the world who can train a cruel person out of the habit once it’s set.”

“Rich words from you,” Izumi tried not to hiss.

Dante folded one leg over the other. “Isn’t it interesting, Izumi? Your student – _ex-_ student – comes to me while fleeing his brother, terrified for his safety and sanity. And instead of admitting that perhaps he’s as monstrous as any other man, you’re going after me for my supposed cruelty instead. Funny world, isn’t it? The more it changes, the more it stays the same. Women _still_ have to bear the weight of men’s mistakes.”

“That’s not – I practically raised these boys. There’s no way whatever happened was as bad as you’re painting it.”

“And thus we find out, my dear Izumi,” Dante’s lips rose in a completely cold smile, “why it was he didn’t come to you.”

For the first time in their whole conversation, Izumi was struck speechless. She knew Dante was wrong – but she could not, for the life of her, articulate _why._ “I think you should leave now,” was the most she could manage.

“You never even got me a drink-“

“Get out of my HOUSE!” Izumi burst out. “Get the _fuck out!_ ” Next to her was a small, marble box – heavy for its size, and the kind of thing she dropped loose change in. Without even thinking about it, she threw it at Dante, who was in the middle of rising. It hit her square on the forehead, and she stumbled back a few steps, staring in shock at the box and its contents, now splayed across the ground. The lid had a bright splash of blood on it, and as she stared, it begin to drip down her forehead, vivid against her skin.

“You actually…”

“Yeah. You never thought I would. Now _get out of my home._ ”

_She’s not my mother,_ Izumi reminded herself as Dante gathered herself up and fled. _She’s not my mother,_ she reminded herself as she picked up the box and all the scattered loose change, avoiding the splash of blood on the lid and telling herself she’d clean it later. _She’s not my mother,_ she reminded herself as she practically crawled up the stairs, her organs reacting to the sudden loss of stress with a burst of pain that knocked her feet out from under her. _She’s not my mother._

Izumi turned both taps up to full. Dublith’s plumbing was mediocre by most accounts, but her little part of town had access to an actual boiler. It paid to be closer to downtown. The water sent steam up into her face, and she managed to pull her dress off before crawling into the claw-footed bath.

She didn’t cry. It was a different kind of loss than that. Instead, she slumped against the side of the bath, and whatever happiness she’d felt sloughed off into the water, like a skin that didn’t fit.

_She’s not my mother._

If only. 


	33. Death Stranding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: hallucinations, self-hatred, suicide attempts referenced, self-harm (accidental), drug use (real drugs this time round), food, parental abuse mentioned, slurs (homophobic)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO EVERYONE. So, something I've always enjoyed with fanfiction is how going back and reading them years later ends up being a wild little time capsule. And. Uh. Well. This'll do! I put this fanfiction on hiatus shortly after the events of 01/06/2021, aka the date when fucking *white supremacists* stormed the US Capitol Building. Yeah. That was a thing. Dear sixteen year old reading through AO3 archives like ten years from now, it was bizarre and terrifying and also weirdly hilarious in a 'break the TV' kind of way. And... uh, well. I decided maybe to leave this fic alone for a little bit. I kept writing it (at the insane rate I have been), but I didn't update it for a few weeks. 
> 
> Mostly, actually, so I could pull this. I don't think I've quite managed what I wanted to do. But welcome to the 'Fuck You Donald Trump' Antifascist Update Bomb in which I post the entire rest of Dog of the Empire on January 20th, 2021, aka the day the US has finally kicked his ass out of office. And if you're shocked that politics is part of this fic, I repeat: you MAY be lost. I'm not sure if I'll get ALL the way to chapter 50, but certainly at the time of me posting this first one of the day, I have halfway through chapter 47 written, and I've been averaging a chapter and a half a day. So. Close enough. I also was always hoping to post a lot of the latter half of this fic at once, because, well... from here, it gets into things I'd rather not leave people in suspense over for too long. 
> 
> The original hiatus notice I posted is appended to the end notes, because it was too good to erase completely. And some comments on the actual chapter after this!
> 
> I find it, personally, interesting how much more comfortable I’ve gotten with writing Will’s mental illness. I still vividly remember writing the chapter right after Nina’s transmutation, and how hard that was for me – it was the first time I’d been that honest about my own mental health problems. This one was easier, in large part because of the practice I’ve had; but it’s still notable how I’ve held back from writing directly about his issues.
> 
> Historical note: Yes, Coke at this time really did have trace amounts of cocaine, and so did some cough drops. The cough drops, admittedly, are a specific brand - but others relied on things like heroin and opium. So, uh, not an improvement. The history of medicinal drugs is pretty fascinating (although a little scary) - and one of the weirdest things about writing anything historical is really thinking about what it means that there's no Tylenol or over-the-counter cough medicine. 
> 
> Song is by Chvrches.

~33~

_You can take my heart  
And hold it together as we fall apart  
Maybe together we can make a mark in the stars we embark  
And keep us together as the lights go dark_

- ** _Death Stranding_**

It was odd, thought Will with a bored sort of exhaustion, glad that he’d been left alone on the train. After Alex left, he’d been… fine. He’d expected to fall apart so much worse than he had. And he’d been fine. He’d managed. Somehow.

“There’s a difference between managing and denial, honey,” Trisha said quietly. Quietly, only because the sound of rushing water was drowning her out. That was a new one, probably because he’d been on the island for so long.

“Or because you _fucking drowned._ ”

Will didn’t have the energy to respond. It was exhausting enough having to process everything and remind himself that, somehow, it wasn’t real. Trisha, at least, wasn’t threatening. This one –

The figure in front of him stood with his feet on the ceiling, arms crossed, turned just away from Will – but gravity had no effect on him. His hair fell to his shoulders the way it should have, and he walked across the ceiling with such self-assuredness that Will kept glancing outside, trying to check which one of them was on the ceiling, and which one was sitting the right way up. It was probably him. Probably. He couldn’t be entirely sure. Sometimes when he had these episodes, he’d find himself places he had no memory of going to – or worse, he had the memory, but no idea _why_ he’d done it.

Trisha, for some reason, didn’t respond to or even acknowledge the presence of the other hallucination. They didn’t seem to know the other was there.

Will sighed, and closed his eyes – but they were both still there, suspended against the darkness behind his eyelids. He opened them. “I don’t…” he said, then licked his lips, his throat sore for some reason. “…really have the time for this.”

“For what? Acknowledging that you’re a suicidal nutcase? The best thing you could probably do for Forcett is blow yourself up before you get there. Or maybe when you get there.”

_Dickhead._ This was what Izumi didn’t understand about him being hard on himself. Compared to the shit his own brain fed him sometimes, he was being _kind._ “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“What do _you_ think?”

Will didn’t like looking at his face. Sometimes there just wasn’t anything there – a mix of shadow and blankness that was just as distressing as anything else could have been. Today, the figure on the ceiling had his face. Of course he did. If Will had grown up normally, was a _normal_ person, he’d look just like that. Short blond hair, suspenders, the kind of thing normal people wore. Normal people.

“You still can’t just say what’s wrong with you?” he spat.

The rushing water was so loud that he could barely follow, and decided to try pretending he hadn’t heard him at all. Trisha seemed to know _something_ was happening, but didn’t know what. “There’s lots wrong with me. I’m _fully_ aware.”

“Are you really? Because last I checked, you were still a faggot-“

Something blinked. The man was standing in front of him. Will aimed at a punch at his face, then winced in pain as his automail went through it and slammed into the wooden train seat with a splintering sound.

“And now you’re wrecking things. Good job-“

“It’s okay, dear. You can just transmute it and it’ll be fine.”

Right. Yeah. That was easy enough. He clapped his hands together, and focused on bringing the wood back to normal, sealing it up, because if he didn’t, they would _know,_ and if they knew, then –

No. No, he was getting scared again. There wasn’t anything to worry about. That wasn’t true either. He couldn’t think in a straight line.

“C’mon, big boy,” sneered the boy with his face. “Maybe you won’t miss this time.”

Will managed to ignore him, and sat down next to Trisha. It was harder and harder all the time to convince himself that they weren’t _real,_ but real or not, this guy was still a prick trying to trick him into hurting himself. He couldn’t remember, now, whether the attempt in the bathtub had been a real attempt, or just trying to drown him out.

“It’s worse than usual,” Trisha murmured. “Isn’t it?”

He nodded, suddenly worried that there were people listening in. ( _they can hear everything)_ But then he couldn’t – he couldn’t do this without speaking, and besides, nobody was _listening,_ he was smarter than that, he was too smart to let a few kinks in his brain stop him from doing what he had to do-

The boy with his face sighed. “You still think this is something you can just _reason_ your way out of? Your sense of reason’s fucked, Billy-boy. It doesn’t _work._ ”

Imagine being _Bill._ Christ. He’d die first. “Did I do this to myself? By denying everything after Alex?”

“…I don’t know. I don’t think it’s that simple. Maybe it’s because there was a _possibility_ he was safe, that he was just doing what he wanted to.” Trisha sounded troubled. She didn’t know anything he didn’t, but what he knew was sometimes a mystery even to himself. “Maybe it’s random.”

“That doesn’t seem better,” he mumbled. He still remembered what it had felt like, the last time it had been anywhere near this bad; the _conviction_ that Armstrong was trying to hurt him, that he was stuck in a downwards spiral with no way but out, that the only way to escape the military was-

He laughed, stifling it with the back of his hand. “What’s so funny?” the boy with his face demanded. “Will?” Trisha asked.

“I’m starting to think being a soldier is unhealthy for me or something.”

The look on Trisha’s face was, admittedly, worth it. “Do you _think?_ ” she said, with such frustration that he actually felt better for a moment.

Maybe there was a reason twelve-year-olds didn’t usually get to sign up. And he knew that, he wouldn’t have wished that on anybody else. He’d just thought, somehow, the two were unrelated. There was every chance they still _were_ but –

“It sure doesn’t fucking help.”

Will glanced at the boy with no face. That comment had been almost helpful. But then his features paled into fog, and he dove at Will, fingernails raking like claws over the exposed part of his arm-

  1. _FUCK YOU-_



Will jerked his hand away from his arm, wincing. The scratches were deep, but not terrible. They’d heal pretty quickly.

As clear as day, like he was hearing them for the first time, Alex’s words filled the air. “Shut up! Do you ever shut up? Do you ever think about anybody but yourself? Am I another vanity exercise for you? If I kill myself five minutes after I get my body back, would you care?” Not exact. Not after this many repetitions.

He didn’t know what it was this time. Maybe it was the sound of rushing water – maybe it was seeing Alex on the other side of that lake. Maybe he was just growing up. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, of course I’d care. I’m sorry I made you think otherwise.”

The boy with no face was gone. The rushing water was still there, but he could live with that.

“You know, now. And you want to do better. That’s enough.” Trisha smiled softly at him, hands twitching as she stopped herself from reaching out to him. He wasn’t quite sure why he knew that. Just that it was true.

It was funny, Will thought. When Trisha had first shown up, he’d been terrified. He’d avoided her as much as possible. But over the last few months – especially after Dr. Holland, he realized with a grimace – he’d been stuck. There wasn’t anybody else to help him. Nobody else _understood_ the extent of it. Even Selim only had shapes, echoes. And he’d let himself actually _talk_ to Trisha, and she… was kind. Hallucinations weren’t supposed to be kind.

“Some can be,” she shrugged.

“Yeah. Still. You see why it freaks me out.”

She gave a noncommittal nod at that. When Will closed his eyes this time, he actually got the blackness he’d been looking for. A shorter episode, then. But he had to _guarantee_ it was a short one. He couldn’t think with all of this extra noise. And sleeping was…

Will swallowed down the nausea. He didn’t like sleeping. Sometimes it was fine, but he _really_ didn’t want to sleep. And he didn’t have to, he just needed some help. Coffee was good, but finding any actual coffee this far into the rural South wasn’t going to work, and besides, the train was almost to Forcett. If the colonel in charge there got even a _whiff_ of how unstable Will was, he was liable to get sent back to Central in handcuffs.

_Or a coffin,_ came the morbid addition. It wasn’t like he made a lot of friends with how he looked. (if they find out if they KNOW who knows what they’ll do to you, blades in the side strip off your clothes-)

He shook his head until he was dizzy, shoving off that thought train. They’d taken a distinctly sexual bent lately, and he didn’t want to think about that more than he had to. _Think. Come on. What will keep you awake? What will-_

There was a rattle from outside. He’d taken a regular train, instead of a military one – which meant there was a trolley that went from one end of the train to the other. He’d never actually bought anything from one – he usually forgot to eat, period – but he opened the compartment door just as she passed him. “Hey, um, can I get something?”

“Of course, love!” She peered into the carriage. “Are you here on your own?”

Right. No uniform, and if he kept his watch out of view – “Yeah, just meetin’ up with my pa. Do you have medicine on there as well as snacks?”

“Oh, a few. You wouldn’t believe how many colicky babies come through here, love. What are you looking for?” The trolley lady was being cautious, but she was a portly woman in her fifties or so, a little haggard, a little tired, but friendly enough. And tired was good. Tired meant she probably wouldn’t notice.

Will glanced down at the bottom part of the trolley. There. Perfect. “I’m gettin’ a tooth pulled tomorrow,” he said, letting the Rizenbul accent slide to the forefront, “and it hurts _real_ bad. You got any tooth drops?”

“Oh, sure, love! Careful with those, though.”

“I promise, I promise. Can I get two just in case, though?”

She gave him an odd look, but he put on his friendliest smile and it seemed to work – purple hair or not. “Anything else, love? You’re supposed to eat with those.”

“Oh, uh…” He stuck a hand into his pocket, rifling through the cens. “Just some pretzels, and a Coca-Cola. How much is that?”

“Fifty cens for the Cola, sixty for the pretzels and the drops are 15 cens each, so that’s a hundred forty cens altogether.”

Easy enough. He even added a bit as a tip. Then he sat back down, reading the cough drops label. _Lloyd Co.’s Cocaine Cough Drops – Instantaneous Cure._ Quacks. Unlike the people who probably made these, he knew what exactly the chemical makeup of cocaine was. He also knew there was probably less than a thousandth of a gram in each cough drop.

The Coke wasn’t going to be any better. He’d never had the stuff, but it still proudly advertised being made with “real cocaine” on the back, which could mean _anything._

“You’ve done this before.”

“Not this specifically. But yeah, it’s – amazing what people put in over the counter medicine.” Will glanced up at Trisha, who looked awfully disapproving. “Mom, it’s this or get killed.”

She turned a little red, and he realized that he’d never actually called her that before. Whatever. It wasn’t like he was using the title on anybody else these days. Shadow or not, she was nice to talk to.

He tossed two cough drops into his mouth, swallowed them with a gulp of Coke (which, to his horror, was the disgustingly sweet of molasses paired with vaguely the same texture as beer) and once he’d finished drinking it, put a third under his tongue. Ten minutes out from Forcett. Then, with paranoia clawing at the back of his brain _(if they know then they’ll know and they’ll hurt you)_ he slid the empty glass bottle into the pocket of his black coat, tied his hair back with a ribbon and waited for the end of the track.

* * *

Izumi woke up to somebody gently nudging her, and realized that the bath water had long since gone cold. “Miss Curtis?”

“It’s Mrs.,” she mumbled, only half awake – then opened her eyes fully, staring up at Lyra, who had her eyes averted.

“Sorry! Sig said you were in here.”

“Oh. What is it?”

“We made you dinner.”

Izumi blinked. Then she took the offered towel, drying herself off while Lyra waited outside. She’d thought the three of them would have fled the moment Dante showed up.

Once she was dressed, she followed Lyra downstairs, still waking herself up. The confrontation with her m- with Dante had taken so much more out of her than she’d expected-

Izumi came to a sudden halt, staring at the table in surprise. They’d _actually_ made her dinner. And Mei and Fletcher looked so proud of themselves too, waiting for her response.

She sighed. “You heard, then.”

“We were going to try sneak out, but…” Lyra shrugged.

“Leaving you alone with her seemed worse.” Fletcher finished the sentence.

“It’s not nearly as bad as it probably sounded,” Izumi started, then realized with a sullen self-awareness that she’d almost immediately lapsed back into making excuses for Dante. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

Lyra laughed sheepishly. “We actually tried _twice._ The first time, your husband came in, slapped all three of us on the back of the head and showed us how to actually use an indoor oven.” At Izumi’s look, she held up her hands innocently. “ _I_ got put on chopping duty. And my family cook made it look easy.”

“Changs are known for their chef skills,” Mei said just a _little_ vainly, “even if I’m a little out of practice.”

Fletcher pulled out her chair for her, and answered the actual question – the one she hadn’t asked. “We, um… all know what it’s like. When our parents aren’t who we want them to be.”

“I’m supposed to be taking care of _you,_ ” Izumi tried next. Although the food smelled good. Were those dumplings? No wonder they’d almost set the place on fire the first try.

“And you’re doing a great job! But we’re not your kids.” Fletcher sat down next to her, Mei across from him, Lyra on the other end. “Equivalent exchange, right?”

Izumi jabbed a fork at him. “You… are a smart-ass.”

“I’m not _wrong,_ ” he protested as Lyra stifled a laugh.

The dumplings, as it turned out, were excellent. Mei had clearly improvised a little – Izumi was fairly certain Xingese dumplings didn’t have so much Worcestershire sauce in them – but it had worked out really nicely. And once she’d eaten, she _did_ feel better. Only after she finished did she realize that they _also_ must have asked Sig about her diet; it was hard to imagine they’d kept to it by chance.

“…Thank you,” she said, the rest of her words failing her. How did you _properly_ thank a trio of teenagers for showing you more genuine care than your mother probably ever had?

“You are _very_ welcome,” Lyra replied, “as long as you never tell my father I worked in an actual kitchen.”

Fletcher’s hand slapped his forehead so loudly it was probably audible streets away. “How did you _eat_ anything?”

“I told you! We had cooks! And maids!”

“Would he really have been that mad?” Mei asked. “At home it’s practically part of growing up. Maybe the other clans have cooks but my family smacks you if you try to get out of chopping bailuobo or making bao.”

“I don’t know what any of those things are.”

“Bao are dumplings, just bigger and fluffier than these ones,” Mei explained patiently. “Bailuobo is…. Uh...” She paused. “I don’t think they _grow_ here,” she gave up.

Lyra chuckled, a little sadly. “He’d either be furious or just ignore me. I think he forgot he had a daughter half the time. But a lot of families like mine wouldn’t let their children do anything that the _help_ was in charge of.” The sarcasm in her voice made it clear what she thought of that, and as Izumi sipped on the broth, she wondered how much Lyra had taught herself out of spite. Certainly her alchemy – the little she’d seen – had the rough edges of independent study.

“I learned how to cook from my mom,” Fletcher said with a smile. “She cooks for half the village. She’s got a – a giant pot-“ He indicated with his arms, and Izumi kept to herself that it looked like Fletcher _himself_ could have fit inside of it, “and she’d make me and Russell peel turnips until our arms were gonna fall off.”

“Cooking’s very much like alchemy,” Izumi offered.

“That’s exactly what Russell said, but he tried to transmute the turnip skins off once and-“ Fletcher made a dramatic face, and Lyra blinked.

“Come on, what _happened?_ That – I mean, wouldn’t that work?”

Mei snorted, then cleared her throat. “Not so much, no.”

“There was turnip in places I didn’t know I _had,_ ” Fletcher complained. “And Mom made me help clean it up! Even though I tried to talk him out of it!”

“You do end up having to talk hotheaded idiots out of things a lot,” Mei commented, with such a prim little look that Izumi wasn’t shocked when Lyra promptly tossed a napkin at her.

“Right, yeah, because you’re little miss impulse control.”

“I am! Usually!” she protested.

“Uh huh. And crossing the desert with a baby panda was…?”

Mei narrowed her eyes at Lyra. “…A calculated risk.”

“Oof. You’re pretty bad at math,” Fletcher mumbled into his soup – and cackled with laughter as Mei brought two gentle fists down on him.

Izumi sat back and enjoyed watching their conversation, even though she was tempted to interfere before one of her nice vases got broken – they _were_ a rambunctious bunch, weren’t they? It reminded her of Will and Alex, except that these three were dealing with their pain differently. It wasn’t quite so close at hand, casting a shade instead of a dark shadow.

She had to ask, though. “I… hate to bring the mood down. But I wanted to know…” Her mouth went dry again.

Lyra seemed to know what she was about to ask, though, tucking her black hair behind one ear. “You wanna ask if Alex ever said anything about Will.”

“ _Did_ he?” Mei asked curiously. “He didn’t bring up his home life much. And _you two_ apparently knew Alex’s brother was the _Fullmetal Alchemist, long_ before I did.” She delivered this one with such a pointed glare that Izumi felt sheepish just by association. It didn’t help that Mei’s body was the one she knew as her mother – but it looked less and less like her by the minute. Mei had also taken the grey hair out of its bun and braided it into two small pigtails, trading out the shawl and buttoned shirt for a more natural-looking jumper. It was an odd look, but it helped.

“Sue us, you weren’t _there_ for that conversation,” Lyra grumbled. “You were having _super special_ training-“ Mei delivered another icy stare- “-that was, obviously, not a positive experience at all, and that I have no reason to be jealous of,” she added hurriedly, hiding her face by drinking the last of her water.

“It sounded complicated,” Fletcher sighed. “Which I get. Russell and I weren’t that close, even though there’s only 14 months between us.”

“Your poor mother,” Mei said, slightly aghast.

“There’s a reason there was only two of us! But no, Alex didn’t sound like he was _scared_ of his brother. I dunno. Being stubborn about something, I guess?” Fletcher glanced questioningly over to Lyra, who shrugged.

“I’m the only one of us who hasn’t the slightest clue what a normal sibling relationship is supposed to look like.”

“I wouldn’t say I do,” said Mei.

“I don’t know, really.” Lyra rested her elbow on the table, deep in thought. “I mean, I wasn’t exactly unbiased when he talked about Will?”

“You have been teasing my curiosity with that one.” Izumi put her glass down. “How _have_ you and Will encountered each other before?”

Lyra went distinctly pink. Oh dear. This was going to be fascinating. “Um.”

“I’m not helping you out of this one, Lyra.”

“Shut _up,_ Fletcher, I am _formulating_ a _response._ ”

“It could be worse,” Mei added. “You could have been robbing a bank.”

“You’re both terrible friends.”

She knew where this was probably going, or at least the vague outlines of it, but it was fun watching Lyra squirm anyway. Perhaps that was mean of her, but as long as it was all in good fun – and besides, Lyra was clearly a very spoiled girl who was still working out how _real_ people worked.

“I was, um, working for my dad. As an alchemist.” Lyra actually looked ashamed at that, which was more than Izumi had expected. “And, uh, my dad is an asshole. He’s the – he _was_ the overseer of a mining town. That’s where I grew up. And when people didn’t give him enough in taxes, he… uh…”

“Ahh. He sent you in to make a mess.”

“Y-yeah.” Lyra spun one of her forks on the table surface, sighing. “I wanna be like, I didn’t know better, but I was fifteen. By fifteen you know when you’re being a jerk.”

There was something… so sweetly naïve about how she phrased it. Being a jerk. Even if Lyra did know the full weight of what she’d been part of, she was still young enough to word it like she’d been shoving people over on the playground. Maybe that was easier.

“And Will showed up and – well, _first,_ he kicked my ass. In front of my father. So that was deeply humiliating. But then he started sidling up to my dad, being all _slimy._ It was weird. And it’s amazing that it worked, honestly – I know the first day he showed up, Dad was calling him names, but the second Will offered him all that gold, he shut up _real_ fast.”

“Gold?”

Lyra snickered. “Will bought the mine.”

“With _what money?”_ Izumi blinked in surprise.

“An awful lot of coal transmuted into gold that went _right_ back to being coal the second he left. And he told my dad to sign it over for five cens so it wouldn’t look like he was selling off government property for profit.” Lyra snickered. “He handed the deed right back over to the people who’d kicked him out the first night.”

“Kicked him _out?_ ” Izumi _really_ had to do a better job of keeping up with her students.

“Oh, yeah, that was – uh –“ Lyra blushed again, deeper this time. “He doesn’t wear the uniform and he didn’t think to pull out the watch. Mr. Halling thought he was, erm. A prostitute.”

Izumi had to hold her breath to stop herself from laughing. Mei just savagely responded, “And _you_ tried to set me up with him.”

“Hey, I like how he dresses! And Mr. Halling _apologized_ afterwards.”

Izumi watched Lyra’s face in consideration. “…Are you in love with him?”

“With wh-“ Beat. “WILL?”

“I’m just cu-“

“Absolutely _not._ ” The stubborn Lyra was back. “He’s the one who kissed _me._ And then was a prick about it. Which,” she deflated a little, “fine, I’m not his type, but I do _not_ like being somebody’s proof that they don’t like girls!”

That answered that question, even if her sides hurt from trying not to laugh at poor Lyra. _That_ sounded like Will. Put all together, it was shocking the two of them had gotten along so well while he was here. “It seems you’ve forgiven him, at least.”

“Well, _yes._ He didn’t tell me that second part at the time.”

“He didn’t say anything to you this time-“

“I can use _context clues,_ Fletcher! I am a smart woman who can read subtext!”

“The subtext of him… wearing women’s clothing?”

“Mei, I swear to god-“

Izumi excused herself with a smile, taking herself to bed. They’d never _quite_ gotten around to answering her question, but it was enough. The problem was, Izumi couldn’t decide which was worse – Alex running away from Will to fall into her hands and not even know it, or an Alex who knew perfectly well that he was trapped.

If she could survive Dante, so could he. She just didn’t know what he’d look like when he came out the other side.

* * *

Somebody was playing music. Alex could hear it, very faintly, from his window; but when he stuck his head out of the window, he couldn’t see anybody outside.

“Up here.”

Alex turned to look up. Envy was perched on one of the eaves, holding a flute in his hands, and –

“Xiao Mei! She’s safe!”

The panda yawned, stretching out on Envy’s lap and rolling over to go back to sleep. Envy chuckled. “I wasn’t going to let anything bad happen to her.”

Alex scowled at him – but curiosity won out. He climbed carefully out of the window and up onto the roof with Envy, reaching out and scratching Xiao Mei behind the ears. “Good panda.”

“Is that what she’s called? I kept wanting to ask Mei but she didn’t like me much.”

Alex withdrew his hand, staring at Envy – and to his pleasure, Envy actually looked uncomfortable. “Wonder why.”

“Ah – yeah.” Envy lowered his flute, carefully petting Xiao Mei. “Dante talked to you?”

“A couple days ago. I notice you’ve been scarce.”

He shrugged. “I was reading, mostly. And…” his face fell a little. “I figured I was the last person you wanted to see.”

It was curious, thought Alex. Envy had intimidated him so much the first few times they’d met. _Everybody_ was taller than him in the doll body. But now, they were the same height, and the novelty of Envy being his… guide, he supposed, to his new existence had worn off. “You don’t seem like somebody who gets guilty a lot.”

“I’m not. Ed’s a bad influence on me.”

“ _Bad_ influence?”

“What we do is easier if you don’t get all wrapped up in the ethics of it. Ed’s really bad about that. He overthinks everything, and I’m there to give him a little shove when we need to move. Sloth helps, too, but she’s pretty new.” Envy’s fingers stilled in Xiao Mei’s fur. “I don’t feel guilty, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Not even a little bit? You _lied_ to me.”

“Not directly.”

“I really feel like that’s not the issue-“

“I said I don’t feel guilty. I didn’t say I don’t feel bad.”

Alex paused, watching Envy’s face. He still wasn’t looking at him. “You have to translate for me out of whatever homunculus gobbledegook you’re speaking.”

Envy actually chuckled at that. “I meant what I said. About your brother.”

“You sure? I mean, I… I don’t know. The longer I’m here, the more it feels like I overreacted.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But I don’t trust people who can’t control themselves.”

“So you’re somebody who can.”

“… _Usually,_ ” he said, sounding a little pained.

Alex didn’t understand Envy. Not one bit. One moment, he was almost the sweet kind of kid that he might have grown up with. The next, he was something colder, a lot less human; but still with something driving him that felt _familiar._ “…You wouldn’t have given me your name if you didn’t actually like me.”

Envy – Alphonse’s – eyes glittered a little at that, even though he wouldn’t meet Alex’s. They hadn’t done anything since that first time, but that moment was still _there._ And, Alex reflected, he’d known he was being manipulated. The Red Stone had been the manipulation. The sex had been completely unplanned.

He shifted closer to Alphonse, even if it was a bad idea, even if he couldn’t trust anybody. “…I don’t trust you. But I like you. Is that stupid?”

“Nah, that’s smart.”

Alex leaned his head on Alphonse’s shoulder. “And if I believe that you actually give a shit about what happens to me? Is that stupid?”

Alphonse didn’t respond for a long while. Maybe he’d overstepped. Maybe he was _wrong._ But then Alphonse wrapped an arm around Alex’s shoulders. “No,” he sighed, a whole host of meaning lingering in the single syllable.

“You don’t like her either.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Alphonse said diplomatically. “We’re heading to Central tomorrow.”

“What? Really?”

“Whatever killed Lust needs to get taken care of. Don’t worry,” Alphonse said with a smile that almost – _almost –_ reached his eyes. “I’ll keep you out of trouble.”

It wasn’t trust, and it wasn’t quite friendship – not yet. But when Alphonse brought the flute back to his lips and started playing another song, something vaguely familiar and haunting, Alex closed his eyes and let himself pretend it was. It was the best he was going to get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! This is not a real chapter, which is not something I usually do; I’m a strict believer in “updates should always be chapters” like, 99% of the time. When I do update for real, I’ll append this to the bottom of the next chapter as a historical note, I suppose.
> 
> So, I have a massive buffer, I have plenty of inspiration. This fic is doing fine. But until the current unrest in the USA settles down at least back to manageable levels, I won’t be updating it. Hopefully, that will be by the end of January. Unfortunately, we just… don’t really know. I’m not American myself (Canadian, so, er, close by enough to worry) but I have a lot of loved ones there.
> 
> More relevantly to LSNA… when I started writing this in 2012-2016, I pulled from real life to a point, but the world was a brighter place. Sure, Occupy was going on, and I was learning about Trayvon Martin, Iraq, Afghanistan – but when I picked this up again at the start of this year, everything had gotten a lot darker. Even then, I didn’t expect real life to catch up with the story quite so quickly. The unpublished ~ten or so chapters already took the story in a difficult direction, but it’s one thing to post those in troubled times and another to post them when we’re trying to figure out whether or not a civil war is going to start in our world.
> 
> That said, I’ll be working away on the buffer during DOTE’s (hopefully brief) hiatus. I always intended to try post this part of the story mostly all at once (or consistently, at least) to help with the tension a little – now it’ll be easier because I’ll have the vast majority of it complete, if not all of it.
> 
> I’ll also be tinkering away at the Ishvalan dictionary and the growing glossary at the end of Hero of the People. Some of the entries in that may move over to the Dog of the Empire glossary, or I might give up entirely and just do it as a separate fic. Still, as it grows, hopefully you’ll get some enjoyment out of it! And as always, I’m over at @elliottdunstan on Twitter, either tweeting angrily about politics or doing weird thigs with food.
> 
> A couple extra notes:
> 
> -Unfortunately due to FF.net's stricter limitations (and... some extremely trigger-happy people who love reporting things) this is an AO3-only update. I've gone on longer unplanned hiatuses before so I doubt it'll be a major issue, but regardless, I feel a little bad.
> 
> -For the curious, chapters 33-39 are complete, and chapter 40 is mostly written, but I keep being unhappy with major parts of it. So er, I wasn't kidding about the buffer. (Not quite ten chapters, but I have a bunch of other scenes and stuff too. Also I have a bad tendency to think in round numbers anyway.)
> 
> -If I either die of COVID or vanish into the aether like far too many fanfic authors do upon "brief hiatus notices", please let it be known that Donald Trump can suck my giant plastic cock and any historian leaving this out of the biography of my life is being immensely dishonest. Also, any historian claiming me as "straight" and just "expressive in my friendships" is lying to everybody including themselves if they think anybody but a flaming queer wrote this.


	34. King of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: nonconsensual drug use, racism, fascism, continuing genocide, bipolar manic episode, paranoia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inb4 “Will is being terrible to Selim” comments: unfortunately, this is one of the things about mental illness I didn’t want to gloss over. Episodes don’t just affect you, even if you’d rather they did; they affect everybody around you as well. Drug addiction, while I’m not delving into that beyond Bad Coping Mechanisms, is much the same way. Trying to be the one pulling somebody out of the pit is horrible. THAT SAID, my hill I die on is that it is still always worse being the one in the pit.
> 
> Also, this initial excerpt is intended to be from an in-universe history textbook. How many fascism-is-great-actually red flags can you find? (Hint: calling democracy ‘mob rule’ and finding any word possible for dictatorship other than dictatorship is 100% the first one.) A lot of the events here are pulled from or inspired by the shift from the Roman Republic to the Roman Empire, if you're familiar with that history - particularly the crossing of the Rubicon. 
> 
> Song is by Porcelain and the Tramps, who currently goes by Porcelain Black; the album this song is from is actually not on Spotify since it was a Myspace release YEARS ago, but the link is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IPeWGXE1U2Q

~34~

_My painfilled drama queen it is always screaming at your bed  
Getting ready to buy you out  
'Cause we all know, what goes around comes around  
'Cause I'm the fucking king of the world  
Get on your knees_

**_-King Of The World_ **

****

AN OFFICIAL HISTORY OF AMESTRIS

Chapter Ten: 1800 – 1865: From Mob Rule to Autocracy

…did choose to protest were given prison terms of up to forty years, and would have been longer except for the infighting within Amestris’s Parliament. The democratic experiment was failing; as it turned out, the person elected by the people was not the smartest or the best suited, but simply the one who could manipulate information the most successfully.

The ultimate result of this, and the death knell for Amestris’s short-lived democratic system, was the First Southern Border Conflict in 1835. It began when Aerugo began claiming land along its border with Amestris. The Prince of Aerugo at the time had newly broken ties with his grand-uncle (King Romanova of Florentine; see chapter eight) and was looking to expand his territory. Once word came to the Amestrian parliament that their towns were being ransacked, they tried to rise to action. Unfortunately, none of the seat-holders were experienced with military matters. Soon they started arguing, and it didn’t seem like they would reach an accord.

The conflict was resolved, in fact, by extra-judicial action. A young Lieutenant-Colonel by the name of **Ian Grumman** had witnessed the mess that was the Parliamentary House. Instead of waiting for official orders, he committed official mutiny, and led a troop of soldiers to the Southern front. The first clash was over extremely quickly, as the Amestrian soldiers took the Aerugoans by surprise. Once the Parliamentary members got word of what had happened, they were furious, of course. But when they tried to send soldiers to collect the mutinous Colonel, the soldiers refused. Many of them had families on the border and had been nursing just as much resentment as the young Colonel.

The war went on for five years, the Parliament ultimately giving the Colonel whatever he required. “Without Colonel Ian Grumman…we would all be speaking Aerugoan,” the politician **Charles Gill** famously stated. The largest battle, and the one with the most casualties, took place in what is now South City, and was at the time known as Innsbruck. After the **Battle of Innsbruck** , Prince Franco and Aerugoan forces surrendered, and the border was set where it is today.

However, Colonel Grumman wasn’t satisfied with just winning the war. Upon his return to Central Amestris, Grumman appointed himself Chancellor of Parliament, and set about making massive changes to the voting structure that had been so haphazardly put together. The **Grumman Reforms** dictated many things, but the most important were the following:

  1. Newer strictures were put in to prevent non-citizens from voting. Citizenship at this time could only be held by men with an Amestrian father. These strictures included cross-checking birth certificates before a vote could be cast.
  2. Only certain positions remained open to the public to be voted on. The Parliamentary seats, for example, remained under the power of popular vote; however, other seats, like Minister of Religion and Minister of International Relations, became appointment-only.
  3. The voting age was raised from 18 to 25, where it remains to this day.
  4. The Chancellor had to personally approve those running for office. This allowed him to review candidates’ suitability for the government.



Chancellor Grumman remained in power for twenty-five years. When he stepped down, however, he passed on the position of Chancellor – renamed Fuhrer to better reflect its double nature as overseer of both parliament and the military – to a man he’d prepared for the position. Fuhrer **Roy Mustang** was sworn in on October 3rd, 1865.

In the wake of the Grumman Reforms, voting became…

* * *

Will didn’t know anything about Forcett, but when he disembarked from the train, the faded advertisements on the station wall told him plenty about what the town had used to be. _Seeking Hired Help For The Summer,_ one ad claimed, the dust on the glass case giving away that whatever summer they’d meant was long gone. Another said _Seamstress for Hire_ with a number beneath. A normal town.

“About time you showed up,” came a gruff voice from behind him. Will glanced at the man’s reflection in the glass, then turned around. He was a Sergeant, toothpick between his teeth and a scruffy beard growing in. “You call that a uniform?”

“I’m a State Alchemist.”

“I don’t care if you’re the bloody Queen of Xerxes, you’ll wear a uniform. The spares are over there.”

He kept his comments to himself, but glared daggers into the man’s back. Pleasant company, indeed. It was hard to tank his mood, though. He felt so light on his feet that he could run a marathon, mind sharp enough to solve any problem he wanted.

Shame he had to wear this ugly fuckass uniform to _do_ it. He yanked the trousers on over his leggings, throwing the jacket over his shoulders. “Who’s the Colonel in charge?”

“Douglas. He can’t see you yet though.”

“Why not? You know how long that fucking train ride was?”

“He’s busy,” the Sergeant replied, toothpick bending dangerously in his mouth.

Will sighed, and followed the Sergeant into the actual military encampment – and stopped. “…Sergeant, I –“ He tried to keep a professional tone. “I was told this was a _small_ conflict.”

“Yeah. You’d think they’d throw fewer of us at it, but hey, I just do what I’m told.”

There were easily three hundred tents in front of him. And Forcett was – Will glanced out over the town itself. He’d be shocked if its starting population had been higher than a thousand.

He threw his briefcase at the Sergeant. “Hold this. Which one is the General’s tent?”

“I _told_ you, he’s bu-“

It was probably the biggest one anyway. _Come on,_ part of him encouraged. _You can do anything you want. None of these pricks are alchemists. What are they going to do, lock you up?_

He pulled aside the tent flap – and snorted. “Glad to know those military funds are goin’ someplace useful.” Usually he would have been embarrassed. He kind of was. But the drugs were doing their job, and it was awfully hard to care _that_ much about the fact that Colonel Douglas’s cock was balls-deep in a sex worker. He flailed to grab his clothes, and the girl sat up, looking more irritated than frustrated or flustered.

“Uh – you can go,” he said, dismissing her. She shrugged her dress back on, and stopped at the tent opening, giving Will a curious look.

“And _you_ are?” she asked, just infuriating the discombobulated Colonel behind her all the more.

Will grinned. “Major Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist. Make sure he pays you double for workin’ on an active front, sweetheart.”

“You get _that_ one for free, but I charge double for pet names,” she shot back. Then as she passed by, she leaned in and whispered, “Tread carefully, but he’s harmless.”

Good to know. Will wasn’t sure why she’d addressed him directly, but maybe it was as simple as him treating her like a person. It was shocking how many people failed that part.

“Elric,” the Colonel seethed. “I told the Sergeant to-“

“-tell me you were busy, yeah, yeah. Why do you have almost nine hundred men stationed here?”

The Colonel stopped, then glared at him. Aha. The fucker had been expecting somebody easy to push around. _Fuck you, you overgrown heap of sewage._ “We’ve been getting pummelled on this front for a good six months, soldier. I don’t know what you think we should be doing.”

“How’d the conflict start?”

Was it him, or was the Colonel a little twitchy? “Ishvalan camp. Local patrols told them to move along, there was a scuffle, a lady got hurt, and next thing you know the whole town’s up in arms. Most of the residents have moved along, but there’s still plenty of folks here, including the original Ishvalans. Bunch of rats, I swear.”

“Right. So you think if I destroy the camp, they’ll finally leave?”

“Best idea I got. They’re armed – with Aerugoan weapons, at that. I think it’s old stock, but old good stock is still a good deal better than some of the crap Central’s been sending us.”

Will nodded, having to keep himself from reacting with the sarcastic snort he wanted to. He’d seen the machine guns outside. They were doing fine. “Alright. Where is it?”

“You can’t _possibly_ be intending to take care of it tonight-“

“Not at all. It’s called recon, Colonel, ever heard of it?”

The Colonel was fully dressed now, but that didn’t stop a vein from popping out in his neck as he struggled to reply. “I don’t know what kind of slack they’ve been giving you up in Central, but this is _my_ territory. We’re departing on a raid at first light. And you will _not_ leave the camp before then.”

Fine. He could play ball. “Alright. I’ll be setting up my own tent, though.”

“Best you do,” the Colonel replied with no small amount of malice. “The men here don’t take kindly to your type.”

_Your type._ Even with the uniform on. It really wasn’t going to matter what he did, did it? “Noted, sir.” He forced his face into a smile, then he saluted and made himself scarce.

* * *

“Selim, what’s the matter? You’re barely eating.”

Selim swallowed, trying to get the weird feeling out of his head. There was a special level of stress involved in having your – he supposed _other half_ wasn’t that bizarre of a term, even if it made him squirm and turn red – be in an active war zone. _War zone._ Was that even right? Was it a war when one side was a well-outfitted military and the other was a – a refugee camp? He hadn’t been scared for Will before – maybe a little, but he’d assumed that it was an _actual_ battle. Not…

He swallowed again. “Sorry. I’m a little out of it.” Hopefully, King was going to just assume it was leftover from his conversation with Pinako. And that wasn’t _entirely_ wrong. The two were combining very, very badly.

King put his fork down, looking at Selim with such transparent concern that he was tempted to tell his father everything. “…I know you’re still upset with me,” he said after a moment. “But I still don’t think running off was the right response.”

Selim nodded, still only about half there. What was _wrong_ with him? Worrying about Will was second nature to him. There was no way this was just a stress response. “I’m not going to do it again.”

“It’s just that you’ve been home a month and you haven’t… talked about whatever happened. Or why you left.”

That’s what his dad was stressed about. The conversation they kept pointedly not having about Mom. “I just-“ _Act normal, Selim, come on,_ he urged himself. And it was hard to stay miserable when there was so much energy in his arms and legs, pulsing through his muscles. “I wish you’d told me about Mom sooner.”

King mulled over the response, still looking unconvinced. “I wanted to keep you out of danger.”

“I know.”

Everything sounded like it was coming from far away, but he still heard his father’s response clear as a bell. “You’re so much like her that it scares me sometimes. Part of me was worried that you’d gone off after her killer.”

“Dad, you didn’t even tell me who it was, I don’t know how I would have figured out it was-“

_Zolf J. Kimbley_

“-Kimbley otherwise,” came out of his mouth, then Selim stopped, hearing the words. “Zolf J. Kimbley?” he repeated to himself. Then he looked up at his dad… who had gone white as a sheet.

“So you _did_ go after him.”

“No, I swear, I didn’t – I didn’t even realize I knew that until now-“ Everything was coming out of his mouth strangely. “I’m sorry, I think I have to – go to bed –“

“Selim, you don’t get out of this that easily-“

“No, I’m _serious._ ”

There was a knock at the door. Selim resisted the urge to simply crumple into a heap – besides, his body wanted to do anything but crumble. It wanted to do everything at once, and even thinking about all of the things he could do with the energy made him _exhausted._ He could build an entirely new set of automail tonight. Why not? He could fix the design flaw in the last set he’d put together. He thought he knew where it was. Why not? Pinako had talked to him about juvenile anatomy. He could fix the problems with that design, too. Why not?

“This time of night?” King mumbled grumpily, reaching for his cane. “Who on earth…” He made his slow, steady way over to the door, and opened it. Selim peered over curiously, but he couldn’t quite see whoever was at the door, or hear the conversation.

(Why not go rewrite that entire replacement set for Lysander? You can increase the electrical output from the nerves to the fingers and increase dexterity if you override the midpoint break, I mean, _why not,_ you won’t know unless you _try,_ and you could do that tonight too)

“Alright, come in.” When King re-entered the room, his glare of consternation at Selim was all the worse for the fact that Selim didn’t know what he’d _done._ “You have some explaining to do.”

“What?” Then he looked at the other man. He vaguely recognized him – greying on top, a buttoned-up suit jacket giving away the military thing even if he wasn’t in the army stance – but he couldn’t place from where. “We’ve… met, haven’t we?”

“Only in passing.” The man sat down at the table. “My name is Vato Falman. I work for Colonel Solaris.”

“Oh,” Selim said weakly. Will wasn’t asleep, even though he was supposed to be. He was scribbling model arrays in a notebook, arrays for – something, something about bodies, practice ideas-

(Why not figure out how to build a homunculus, just in case, just for kicks, just the _theory,_ the _outline_ of it, just as a backup, _why not?_ )

(You could figure out how to change the endocrine levels within a human body if you just get your hands on a thyroid gland or two, you could just a take a look, bodies are just puzzle pieces and gender’s part of the same puzzle, _why not?_ )

“I’m here to protect you and your father.”

“From what?” King asked insistently.

Falman hesitated. “I…”

“For goodness’ sakes. Are you not even cleared to tell us?” King demanded, some of the old drill sergeant coming out in his face.

“It’s not that, sir! I just don’t fully understand it myself,” Falman admitted.

“The homunculi.”

Falman’s eyes snapped up to stare at Selim, and he realized his father was looking at him, too. What was that word? He didn’t actually know what it meant. “I – I heard Will say it before,” he added lamely. Maybe they’d believe that. It wasn’t untrue, either – Will was thinking about homunculi right now, all of the information bouncing around his head, mixed up with stuff about bodies and minds and things too complicated for him to explain.

“What on earth are homunculi?” King asked.

Falman glanced between the two of them. Then he folded his hands together carefully on the table. “They’re a cult of fanatics that the Colonel has been dealing with,” he said diplomatically. “It appears that for some reason they’re targeting State Alchemists.”

A cold sweat broke out over Selim’s spine, and he didn’t know why. He didn’t know anything about this, except – “The Beast?”

Falman was looking more suspicious by the moment. “Yes, among others.”

His head hurt so much. He knew all these things he wasn’t supposed to, and – god, what was wrong with him? He was so _jittery._ “You’re worried that they’ll come after us because of Will.”

“I’m afraid so. We don’t know anything for sure.”

Falman was lying. He could feel it (why could he feel it?) in the misty aura around him, the way he always knew these things (and Will doesn’t, it’s just me, this is something broken about _me_ ) and he couldn’t stop himself, barely a part of his own body – “What are you lying about?”

“Selim-“

“You’re not telling the truth. You’re scared, and you’re confused. You don’t understand your actual mission. But you’re nervous too because you-“ _pride and fear in equal parts-_ “-you don’t want to disappoint the Colonel.”

Falman and King were staring at him like he was a stranger. King approached him, hand on his shoulder (don’t touch me). “Son, are you feeling alright?”

“I’m great, actually.” He was. Energy kept surging through him, and it felt like his father was moving in slow-motion, why _bother_ being slow- “I just know he’s lying.”

(Why not call people on it when you can see their emotions around them like a cloud? Why not see if staying awake makes it clearer? Why not see how long you can stay awake, just for kicks, just to see what happens, just to _know?_ Why not?)

(Why not see how many lies you can catch like fireflies in a jar?)

“Selim-“

“He’s not wrong,” Falman said, obviously shaken. (Obviously, because his unease was staining the air) “That’s – mostly the truth, at least as much of it as I got, but-“

“But what?” Selim leaned over the table. “What are you actually here for?”

_Shapeshifters. There are shapeshifters SHAPESHIFTERS TEST HIM TEST HIM TEST HIM_

(WHY NOT WHY NOT WHY NOT if he’s lying, he’s lying, and you’ll know if he’s lying and you know that they’re after you and you know that there are things to fear in the shadows and you know that there are things that lurk in the dark so WHY NOT)

The overlay in the corner of his eyes shook a little, and Will’s hand hesitated on the array. “Selim?” he whispered, but he was fine, everything was fine, this was _fine-_

Falman glanced at King for a moment. “The understanding I have is that you have a way of communicating with Fullmetal.”

A way of-

_WILL YOU SON OF A BITCH_

But Will was watching now, and even though he had just as much of that insane energy in him, the bubbly fizz of euphoria dancing along the mind so close to his, Will wasn’t – doing _this._ Some part of Selim was watching himself from a distance, trying to understand what was wrong-

_You’re not used to it,_ Will said with obvious guilt. _This doesn’t- I didn’t think you-_

Used to it? You could get _used to it?_

Selim couldn’t follow what he was saying. And he couldn’t follow what Falman was saying either. Words were just vague impressions upon skin and he was –

_Selim._

Will. He could hear him.

_Selim, get out of there for a moment. You’re not lucid._

“I’m sorry, I need – a moment,” he said, almost exactly echoing what Will had said to him because that was easier. He’d forgotten what lucid meant. (Lucidlucidlucid it sounded funny if you said it enough)

He ran out of the door, because the bathroom was too enclosed, too locked in, and almost ran into the wall, hands grappling for the crank for the shower. It squealed with rust as he turned it, then the cold water fell down over his head, drenching his shirt and sweater with water. _He’s the shapeshifter, he’s here to kill me and Dad, he’s lying, and I can tell and I can’t – fucking breathe -_

“Selim,” Will murmured. He was outside, too, the cold winds of the flatlands at night an almost dizzying contrast with Rizenbul’s thick, humid air. It felt good, along with the cold water – but Selim was still sweating. He was sweating so much, and he didn’t know why. “Selim, I’m sorry.”

Selim struggled to breathe, pulling his shirt over his head as he tried to figure out where the heat crawling over his skin was coming from. “What did you _do?_ ” he hissed. The anger surged up through his nerves so violently that he almost collapsed, steadying himself on the pipe of the shower itself, trying to make the world stop spinning. “Will, what did you _fucking do?_ ”

“Selim, I’ve taken drugs before and you’ve never – I’m so _sorry._ ”

He was trying to keep his voice down. “What is in my system, Will? Tell me the truth-“

“Cocaine. And way more than you can handle for a first time.”

Selim bit down on his lip to stop himself from screaming. Will hadn’t known it was going to hit him – YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME- it wasn’t his fault – _Why are you taking cocaine in the first place?_

“…Sometimes when, uh, I’m hallucinating a lot, it.” Will paused. “It doesn’t make them go away but it makes it easier to function anyway. And the rest of this is-“ He laughed, far more gleefully than the situation warranted. “It kicks off one of my _fun_ episodes.”

“ _Fun?_ ” There was nothing fucking fun about this. He was terrified. He could identify that, now that he knew what was _happening._ The little touch of manic glee was still in the back of his head, insisting that this was _good,_ that he could get everything he wanted to done now, he just had to let it happen -

“Right now, Selim, I feel like I can do anything. I could stop a whole war if I wanted to, huh? And I know I can bring Alex’s body back. It’s – well, it’s not _easy,_ but I can do it! You saw those arrays. I’m close! I just need a Stone-“

“You don’t want to use the Stone,” Selim mumbled. His lips felt numb.

“There’s another way to make it. I know there must be. And I can’t figure it out _yet,_ but give me a day or two like this-“

“You’re not sleeping.”

“Course not. I have too much to do.”

Selim had always known, even when they were younger, that Will was different. That there was something skewed, something vastly stranger than simple eccentricity, in how he saw the world. He wasn’t scared of Will. He wasn’t. But the person he was talking to wasn’t the Will he knew. _How do I make it stop?_

“Why do you want to make it stop?”

_FOCUS._ The scariest part, thought Selim with another little crack of fear, was that everything that Will was saying was just the vocalized version of what he was already feeling. If he’d been a different person, he might have blamed Will, or thought that Will was doing it to him on purpose. But that was exactly the problem, wasn’t it? That was _exactly_ why he was so scared. This was spillover. This was –

“The cold is helping,” Will said quietly, a little more stable, a little more present.

Selim pressed his head to the pipe, wanting to cry. “…Will?”

“Yeah?”

“How often does this happen to you?”

“What do you mean? It’s cocaine, I-“

“Not the coke.”

Will fell silent. Selim hadn’t been supposed to realize that, he noticed with a grim smile. Drugs were one thing. But the ‘episodes’ – the drugs were just a trigger, weren’t they? And he’d triggered it on _purpose_ this time.

“You would, too, compared to the alternative,” Will said bitterly.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“Oh, once or twice a year, for the bad ones. Usually I’m just a bit, yanno. Giddy.” He snickered into his hand again. “Come on. It’s not that bad-“

_Why does Falman want to talk to you?_

_I don’t know, but it can wait. Looks like the raid’s been moved up._

Raid? But then Selim saw, in his overlay, Will pull out another cough drop. He wasn’t _thinking._ He wasn’t –

Another wave of euphoria hit him, and he felt so alive that the details didn’t matter. Will was right. They could do anything they wanted.

* * *

Diana wasn’t sure whether or not Jareth was awake, so she crept out of bed quietly enough not to disturb him. She thought about leaving – but she was at least clear-headed enough now to know that was just running away.

The empty flask was sitting on the table, and she sighed. She would have loved a drink. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Somewhere when she wasn’t paying attention, a glass had turned into two, had turned into full bottles –

She was supposed to be better than that.

She pulled the letter that Will had written to her out of her pocket. She’d almost forgotten about it, in everything after Maes’s death. He was honest about Lab 5 in it, which was a nice change – or at least, it sounded honest. And he’d been almost professional in it, right up until-

_I almost did it, Diana. And I’m scared. I’m scared that I couldn’t decide on my own that it was the wrong thing. And I don’t know what to do now. The Beast – whatever his real name is – has a stronger moral code than I do. What does that say about me?_

Diana. For a moment, he’d been writing to her as a friend, and not as a superior officer. And he was asking _her_ about ethics. It was so awful it was almost funny. She didn’t have anything to tell him, except that in his place, she probably would have done the same thing. Lives were valuable, and important, and precious; but it was hard to remember that when nobody ever considered _yours_ the same way.

She rubbed her face, trying to come up with something she could tell him when she saw him again. Something actually _useful._ There was plenty of horrible revelations in it that – somehow – she was filing away to scream about later. Things she’d suspected, almost known, and that the confirmation of mostly left her numb about. But the way he practically begged her for guidance -

“What’s on your mind?”

“Oh, you _are_ awake,” she said with a small smile. Jareth was still limping a bit as he came over to her and sat down on one of the kitchen chairs.

“I wouldn’t call it awake until I have coffee, but close enough.”

“You spend more of your salary on coffee than most people do on food alone,” she shot back, but she was still gazing at the letter.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, the – the letter Will gave me. It’s got the information about Lab 5 in it.”

“Is that what’s bugging you?”

She shook her head. It was hard to put into words what exactly it _was_ that had her so at odds with herself. “…Are we good people?” she asked, finally, and surprised by what came out of her mouth.

Jareth blinked, but didn’t seem any readier with an answer than she was. “Eleven years in the military and _now_ you ask me this?”

She subsided into embarrassed silence. It was strange. If you’d asked her three, four years ago how she saw herself, she certainly wouldn’t have thought of Laura Kwan first. She was a soldier, committed, ambitious – but she’d never really _changed,_ had she? She and Jareth were out for themselves first, protecting their own, keeping their secrets close and their hearts closer…

_No,_ she amended. _She_ kept her heart close. Jareth had his secrets, but he didn’t keep his affection to himself. She was the one who found intimacy uncomfortable at best, terrifying at worst. And at the end of the day, you couldn’t throw two slum kids into the military and expect them to ever _really_ change – not deep in their bones. And that had been fine. That had been fine until she was staring down a teenager with a different past, different scars, different heartaches – but the same selfish and protective fire burning at his center.

“I didn’t care, before. Or I suppose I did, but… it’s easy to make excuses. And now…”

Jareth’s eyes flicked down to the letter. He hadn’t read it, but for all that he called himself the stupid one, he was smart when it came to people. “He wants you to tell him what to do, huh?”

“Never thought I’d see the day,” she said wryly. “I remember how much work it was getting him to _salute_ properly.”

Jareth was giving her an odd look – affectionate, almost teasing, but still mystifying in context. “You’re really so puzzled he’s askin’ you?”

“I mean, wouldn’t you be?”

“He adores you. I mean, god, try getting him to admit it,” Jareth added, rolling his eyes, “but he’s not as much of a prick as he manages to pretend.”

“ _Adores_ seems like a strong word.”

Jareth made a dissenting noise at that, leaning on his hand, clearly still sleepy. “Suit yourself.”

“Besides, I don’t think I _deserve_ it.” At his look, she added, “I don’t mean – I don’t know what I mean. He’d have turned out differently with a better commander.”

“This again?”

“Sorry. It just- comes to mind a lot.”

“For somebody worried about whether or not you’re a good person, Di, you’ve spent more time on Will’s welfare than you do your _own._ ”

…Jareth wasn’t wrong. Which was the annoying part. “Like you’re not just as bad. I saw you carrying him home.”

Jareth’s ears went a little pink, and not for the first time, Diana wondered – and worried – about what was _actually_ going on with him and Will. Nothing concrete, she knew that much. Jareth was an idiot, but not that much of one. Just… something more than she’d expected. She’d caught on when Jareth was staring at Will during the gala, but the flush just sealed it. She chewed her lip, wondering whether or not to bring it up – then left it alone. She could trust Jareth to be an adult when it mattered. And Will’s ill-advised crush on _him_ was, thankfully, subtle enough to be missed if you weren’t looking for it.

“Well, we’re pretty crap parents,” Jareth said after a bit, ears still pink. “But hey, at least we’re making an effort.”

“I will consider myself his mother when hell freezes over,” she shot back. “I am _twenty-nine._ And determinedly _not_ having children.”

“Too bad. We got two of them-”

“When. Hell. Freezes. Over.”

Still, it stuck with her the rest of the day, even when she got to work. What would her mother have done, if Will and Alex had been _her_ kids? Ayi? The father she’d never known except through sparse, secondhand stories? What – and she felt guilty even thinking about – would Trisha Elric have done if she’d lived long enough?

Who knew? She certainly didn’t.


	35. Swallow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: racism, genocide, military violence, SEVERE ableism/sanism, unreality/psychosis/mania

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, doubling down on the racism TW for this chapter. A lot of what’s being discussed here is taken from both Jim Crow laws and the anti-Jewish laws from Nazi Germany. That… makes it, probably, harder to read, not easier. That said, a point of clarification; they are actually incorrect in saying this is Order 3066, just that that’s the shorthand for those laws because they’re so deeply connected with that order. Order 3066 technically was what permitted State Alchemists to be used on the battlefield, but due to the cultural context of that, it’s also used to talk about the anti-Ishvalan laws that followed very shortly afterwards. (Cf: people using the term 'Holocaust' to refer to the entire Nazi regime and all the German anti-Jewish laws.)
> 
> Rick and Leo are from the 2003 series! I can’t remember the exact episode name/number, but Al runs into them during his identity crisis.
> 
> Song is – ironically enough, by another band that is also called Porcelain Black.

~35~

_I will smile as I beat you down  
I will smile as I beat you-  
(I’m going to enjoy this)  
Swallow the medication  
Sweet as the sugar-coated fears  
Swallow your indignation  
I hope you choke on this _

**_-Swallow_ **

Colonel Douglas had been trying to shake him. That much was obvious. A raid that had been intended to start at sunrise didn’t head out while it was still pitch black unless he’d been given the wrong information. And Will wasn’t surprised by that, either. He knew the man didn’t want him there. A lot of rank-and-file soldiers, especially infantry, didn’t like State Alchemists.

What was bothering him was – well. It wasn’t difficult. He could understand, he supposed, trying to get Ishvalans to move on. It was possible the townspeople _themselves_ had made the first call to the military. But nine hundred soldiers? He wanted to believe- he _had_ to believe that the Ishvalans had fought back, or hurt somebody, something that made… sense. Something other than just existing. Maybe that was naïve of him.

The good news was, one person on foot with better night vision than anybody expected was faster than even a small unit sneaking through the dark. And Will didn’t care if he was seen. The torches surrounding the camp were visible from the rooftops, and he made his way through the dusty streets, until he reached the entrance to the camp. In contrast to the military camp, there was no barbed wire, no proper gate – just a ramshackle fence, cloth strung over the entrance, and tents that had probably once been military surplus but had been patched so many times that they looked entirely different.

Will approached carefully, glancing at the two buildings flanking the camp’s entrance.

“Drop your weapon!” a voice cut through the darkness.

Yeah, he’d figured. He raised his hands carelessly, trying to pinpoint which window the voice had come from. “Don’t have any. The rest do, though.”

“The rest?”

The voice sounded far too young, Will thought, swallowing and trying to ignore how dry his mouth was. He’d lost track of how many of those fucking drops he’d had. His lips tasted like menthol. “About twenty, thirty.”

“Why are you here?”

“To… to warn you. I guess.” He was a bad soldier by any definition of the word – he’d always known that. But he _knew_ this was treason. If he’d been less high, maybe he would have cared more.

There was a pause. “You don’t sound very certain.”

“That’s because I’m not. By my count, you have about ten minutes, by the way.”

The voice was silent, and then there was a clatter of footsteps from inside the building. Will squinted through the torchlight – there was still a number hanging next to the door, which meant it had been an actual _house._ Then the door swung open, the diminutive figure coming into view with a gun in his hands. “T-try anything funny and I’ll shoot you.”

“Sure you will. What are you, six?”

“Ten,” he retorted, a little sulkily. He had dark brown skin, like the Ishvalan man he’d met before, but his hair was black and in desperate need of a cut and a wash, falling into his eyes and out of the bandana wrapped around his head.

That was not an improvement. “Whatever. What is this place?”

He eyed Will strangely. “…You look weird. Are you with the circus?”

“No, I’m a S-“ Shit. He couldn’t say that. “Stripper.”

The boy actually took him at his word, which was going to go _fascinatingly_ later. “This is where we live. Don’t you know that?”

“Let’s pretend for a moment I’m the village idiot. Where _is_ everyone?”

“Hiding, mostly. Leo and I are on guard.”

“Listen, I don’t…” Will swallowed again. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

Something cold and metal pressed against the small of his back. “Give me one good reason not to shoot you.”

“Leo, _no,_ he’s nice-“

The person behind him reached into Will’s pocket and pulled out the watch. “He’s _bait._ ”

Shit. There went any of his credibility, or good faith. “I can explain-“

The muzzle of the gun shoved a little farther into his spine. “You can explain it to God, khanuvet.”

“Wait! Please, I- I’m telling the _truth!_ ” Will didn’t feel scared, exactly. But he’d been awake too long, and the drops were wearing off _again,_ which meant he had about a minute and a half before the boy with no face showed up again – “They sent me here and didn’t tell me anything. And I’m not going to be their weapon.” It was the first time he’d said it out loud, what he feared so badly.

The smaller boy looked over Will’s shoulder, almost pleadingly. “Rick, he _sounds_ like he means it.”

“He also told you he was a stripper,”

“To be fair,” Will added with a nervous laugh, “I get that a lot. And I panicked. Look, just – where _is_ everyone? Not just the Ishvalans. Where’s everybody _else?_ ”

The gun eased off, but didn’t quite pull away. “ _Everybody’s_ here,”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone left.” The boy behind him was maybe a few years older than the kid in front of him, but still young. Too young. “We, um… We came here before the order.”

“Order 3099?”

The smaller boy flinched at that, and Will wished he hadn’t said it out loud. It’d been one thing, dealing with a grown man. They were _kids._ “Sorry. I don’t, uh – I wasn’t around.”

“Yeah, I _figured._ You don’t even have a beard. Point is, everybody in Forcett’s in violation of the order.”

“What? How?”

The smaller boy looked so astonished that Will wondered if he’d done something wrong. And he could feel the horrified anger from Selim even before the boy behind him – Leo, he realized – spelled it out. “Ishvalan extermination means giving us shelter, protection, all of that… that’s illegal. It’s consorting with the enemy.”

“But… but you’re _kids._ ”

“Like you care!” the younger boy finally burst out. “Amestrians don’t care! I-“

“Rick, calm down,” Leo ordered. “

_The order can’t possibly be that stringent,_ Will thought, trying to justify it, something, _anything._ “What… started it? I mean, what-“

The gun disappeared from the small of his back. For the first time, he could actually see Leo – his height, lighter brown hair than Rick, a scrawny body that looked too small for the gun he was carrying. “Are you that clueless to the world around you?”

“Not on purpose.” Will felt himself getting angry at Leo, which wasn’t _fair,_ because Leo was right to be frustrated and cynical, but he just hadn’t _known,_ nobody had _told_ him, he’d – he’d joined the military because of what he needed, and the war had been long over, except it wasn’t, it wasn’t because here he was, and his job was-

He felt sick. Mustang had sent him here to _kill them._ That was what the job was. That was the order. Order 3066. And…

_Does he really think you’re heartless enough to do it?_ Selim was asking, and Will didn’t have the courage to answer him, because if he didn’t know as much, if he hadn’t asked the right questions-

“Katalina got pregnant,” Leo said after a moment. “The woman who runs the clinic. And it was one thing when we were just living here. But the dad was – I mean, she and Malachi were in _love._ They were going to get married.”

Katalina got pregnant. An Amestrian woman, an Ishvalan father. That was so _simple._ That was so small. That was life at peace. “Is she-“

“She’s fine,” Rick said quickly. “We got her out of the city before the military showed up. Malachi didn’t make it.”

“Stop _telling_ him everything, Rick!”

_Will, you can’t,_ Selim begged.

_Of course not, Selim. Who the fuck do you think I am?_ But then he glanced through the overlay, the constant backdrop, and realized that Selim was crying.

“I’m not going to-“

A gunshot ripped through the darkness. In front of him, too fast to stop, Rick collapsed to the ground.

The world went technicolor.

* * *

“Selim?”

It wasn’t his dad behind him, standing on the grassy knoll just away from the shower. It was Falman, the soldier who had shown up out of the blue – the soldier he’d scared so badly. Selim didn’t remember turning the shower off. He still had his trousers on – small mercies, he supposed. The outside shower wasn’t something he used when guests were over, but he’d been – he still _was_ – out of it. Everything was too much. Too much. Too much. He hadn’t known the order was – he hadn’t _known_ about those laws.

Falman was trying to talk to him, say something, but Selim couldn’t focus. Everything was happening in front of him – the world _here_ might as well not be real. “I can’t… breathe,” he managed to mumble. Then Falman’s hand found his shoulder.

“I don’t know how you communicate with Will. I don’t understand it. But he’s being _watched,_ you understand me? There’s a State Alchemist watching him, determining whether or not he stays in active service.”

Like that mattered. Like any of that could _possibly_ matter –

The gunshot ripped through Selim’s consciousness, and he screamed without realizing it.

“Selim? _Selim?_ ”

Footsteps, King’s worried voice, and then he was collapsing, legs giving out because he couldn’t deal with this much _input -_

* * *

THEY HAD FOLLOWED HIM-

-the wall shot up before he realized what it was, and it was familiar, crystal cold adamantine, and when was the last time he had done this he didn’t remember didn’t remember but the lightning through his veins felt _good good good_

THEY HAD FOLLOWED HIM

(don’t be stupid, they were already on the way here)

“ _you got him killed”, whispers the boy with no face_ but he looks back over his shoulder and Rick is sitting up, he’s in pain, he’s bleeding but he’s alive

( _“you’re going to get him killed” whispers the boy with no face)_

they look so scared

Leo’s thrown himself backwards onto the ground in terror, and Will knows that look, that’s the look he sees in the mirror, that’s the fear of the Gate except

no no no _every time he’s seen alchemy it’s been to tear people apart_

(diana with a glass of blood in her hand and pretending he can’t see the empty black hole in her heart that she emptied out because it hurt too much)

Selim is here with him, he can feel it, but they’re so close that it almost feels like they’re a single person, two halves of a whole, and it feels _fucking good,_ because he doesn’t need a Stone, he’s never needed one, equivalent exchange is enough when you’re surrounded by carbon and oxygen and hydrogen –

(kill them ALL fucking child killers why not? Why not? Why not? do you feel her face in your hands, fused with a dog she loved by the hand of somebody she thought loved her)

(she’s dead too and you’re not certain you’ve never really been able to accept it but)

(you know)

(tucker so mad with his victory that he couldn’t see the imprint of her destroyed organs under her skin)

He lets himself through the wall, and Colonel Douglas is staring him down, and there’s a halo behind his head, or maybe it’s horns, claws gripping the gun he used to fire on Alex and they look so much like the

(claws pulling Alex back into the gate GIVE HIM BACK TO ME)

He closes the diamond wall behind him. “Don’t you dare fucking touch them.”

“They’re _rats,_ Fullmetal. Now take this goddamn wall down and step aside. That’s an order.”

Rushing water. All he can hear is rushing water. It almost blocks out Douglas’s voice. And he grins, so wide it almost hurts, and he is _so powerful_ compared to everybody else here, isn’t he? Alchemists are gods already. And that’s _with_ their circles. And he’s so much more than that. Part steel and part ivory and part pure fucking light, that’s what it feels like

(Selim is pulling him down to earth, just a little, and everything’s in slow motion but)

Douglas is pulling the gun on him. He expected as much. And so when he claps his hands together and slams them to the gun, it melts, burning Douglas’s hand with metal slag-

Another shot. It misses him, enough, and he kicks the soldier’s legs out from under him, his head in his arms, and it’s just a twist-

_Don’t kill him. Please._

Selim asks him not to. So he lets the soldier drop. And he’s just here enough, _just_ present enough, that he can do that. They’re burned, and they’re broken, but they’re alive, and they should be _thankful,_ because he’s allowing them to live, allowing them that because he’s better than they are, they whisper behind their hands and behind closed doors about him being a monster and a predator and a freak of nature but you know what YOU KNOW FUCKING WHAT he’s _fine with that._

The last of the unit goes down so easily that Will thinks he’s let him do it, and when Will puts his foot on his throat, he can see his reflection in the man’s eyes, something massive with multiple arms and legs, a forest of eyes and tombstone teeth, something demonic and angelic-

_Will._

“Tell me why not,” Will demands of the man below his foot. “Tell me why I _shouldn’t_ kill you.” (why not why not why not) it keeps (repeating in his head) (insisting) (really, REALLY, WHY THE FUCK NOT)

“I –“ The man is quivering. Not so brave now, without a gun to hide behind or the safety of a commanding officer. “I was – I was following orders –“

And Will wants to hate him for it. He can. He does. But if he kills him for it –

Selim is the one with the sourer taste in his mouth. Selim, who knows Diana and Jareth and Sander so much less well, Selim whose mother died protecting a runaway alchemist and this, _this,_ is what he was part of-

Will moves his foot away. He alchemizes the wall again, gives himself footholds to get up to the top. The camp is splayed out in front of him, and all of them, _all_ of them, are awake in the rising sunlight, and he thinks maybe he’s hallucinating half of them because some of them keep disappearing and reappearing.

He’s got some sort of speech in mind, or maybe it’s Selim who wants to say it – that they’re under _his_ protection, that he’s not going to let a damn thing happen to them, he’s not going to fail them the way he failed Alex he failed Nina he failed Russell he failed Rose but –

But he is so _tired._

When he collapses off the top of the wall, though, somehow, there are people to catch him. Amestrian and Ishvalan. A mix of languages, mix of voices, mix of accents –

“He’s still a fuckin’ khashie,” Leo grumbles.

“Khashval or not, that was a brave thing he did.” Older voice. Deeper. Will blinked, trying to clear his vision. Things are a little more stable now, although he keeps switching back forth, a little – a little unsteady, but he was feeling more _together_ by the moment.

The man seemed to notice. He eased Will down onto the sandy earth, looking him up and down curiously. No injuries – or at least, only bruises and scrapes. Nothing major. That would scare anybody. But the man doesn’t look _scared_ of him exactly. The others do – he doesn’t. “I’m afraid you have some tough choices to make now, _khashval.”_

“You keep…” He licked his lips. “…calling me that.”

“It means stranger. Or, well, in this case, Amestrian.”

“I’d rather die than be Amestrian,” he mumbled again. There was an audible scoff from Leo.

“Don’t laugh at him,” the older man reprimanded. “He’s barely older than you. But, child, you can’t disavow your birth so easily.”

“Not a child,” he murmured. But that – made sense. He supposed it did, anyway. It stung. He wished it was so easy. He nearly understood, maybe, if his head didn’t hurt so bad -

Somebody was giving him water, and he drank thirstily at it. Was that what he’d been forgetting? “What does that mean?”

He could see the older man who’d caught him more clearly now. He had a multicolored sash on, a shaved head, and a mustache with a handful of white hairs starting to show. “There you go. Although you’re in sore need of an actual rest.”

“What he _means,_ ” Leo interrupted, and Will could hear the shake of both terror and relief in his voice. _A near miss,_ Will realized. _He almost lost everything – again, I think._ “-is you can’t just up and decide you’re not Amestrian. I’m stuck being Ishvalan even though I hate it. You don’t get to just – I don’t know. _Opt out._ ”

Maybe if he’d been a little less drained, he would have picked a fight, or argued, just for the sake of it. But he was scraped raw, mania emptying him out and the vestiges of his own panic rubbing off the last of the attitude. He couldn’t do it. So he just nodded, feeling – something. Nothing. Everything. God, who knew. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.” Everything was spinning. And Selim–

_I’m okay. I think. Or I will be._

“Leo, I understand your rage, but a State Alchemist who takes out his whole unit rather than let one of us be hurt is somebody worthy of some patience.”

“I’ll be patient when I get my mom back.”

“That’s the most sense you’ve made so far,” Will mumbled.

Then he felt it – the spark of alchemy that wasn’t _his._ Falman. Falman had warned him –

_A State Alchemist is watching you._

And it wasn’t somebody he knew.

A slow clap echoed through the morning air. “Very, _very_ dramatic, Fullmetal.”

“Leo,” the older man’s voice dropped, “get back into the camp.”

“Oh, wonderful. I see I’ve been recognized.”

Will sat up, feeling like every muscle in his body was on fire. The man approaching was in an Amestris-blue uniform, long hair pulled back into a ponytail, a salacious smirk on his face and multiple eyes opening and closing on his cheeks. The last detail, he sighed, _probably_ wasn’t real. Probably. “I think I made myself pretty clear.” He tried to make it sound bold and determined, but he was about two seconds from passing out completely _._ “Don’t you touch them.”

The man gave him a searching look – then smiled. “I’m sure we can make a deal. I’m afraid I haven’t introduced myself, though. State Alchemist Zolf J. Kimbley, at your service.”

_Kimbley._

_He’s in jail. He’s SUPPOSED TO BE IN JAIL-_ Selim began to protest, but Will had to try to ignore him. “Why are you here?” he asked, every nerve he had prickling.

“To observe you, of course. The Fuhrer’s been very worried about your mental state.”

The man next to him cursed quietly in Ishvalan. That wasn’t a good sign.

“My mental state’s fine. You should ask what kind of sane people fire guns at kids.”

“The kind who are ordered to, Fullmetal,” Kimbley said with a surprised, almost defensive tone. “Are you questioning the Fuhrer’s orders?”

Will was about to snarl something in response – but the Ishvalan man squeezed his shoulder in warning. “…I suppose not.”

“That’s what I thought.” Kimbley produced a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. “I’ve seen plenty to make my decision. So-“

Will got to his feet and stared Kimbley down. Then he put his wrists out in front of him. “Go ahead.”

“…My, my. I expected a little more resisting arrest.”

“I know. And that was going to be your excuse for killing them, wasn’t it?” Will kept his unblinking stare into Kimbley’s eyes. “We leave, _now._ And you leave them alone.”

Kimbley almost looked disappointed. “And here I was looking forward to some fun. I suppose it would look awfully bad, though. Still, I encourage the members of this illegal encampment to move along. Don’t you think?”

Will cast an apologetic look back at the man who’d tried to protect him. He shook his head, though – clearly he’d expected something of the sort. “I’ll be happy to deliver a handwritten apology to the Fuhrer himself. Now let’s get _going._ ”

Kimbley span him around, and there was a _click_ of cold metal as the cuffs closed around his wrists. The last thing he saw of the camp was Leo giving him a long look as Kimbley dragged him _around_ the wall – a longer trip than strictly necessary, but he’d sort of gone overboard with it, so that was on him.

There, on the other end of the wall, the men he’d taken out were on the ground, the Gatling gun behind them unmanned and only half-constructed. They were alive – he could hear their groans, and Colonel Douglas had levered himself into a sitting position. “Oh, good,” he growled. “You’re arresting the traitor.”

“I am, yes,” Kimbley replied smoothly. The truck he’d come in wasn’t from the camp, Will realized; the men standing by it had clean, pressed uniforms with none of the dirt or wrinkles of the Forcett encampment. They also – he noted with a ice-cold stab of suspicion – didn’t have any visible badge numbers or name tags. But they unlocked the back of the truck, and Kimbley tossed him in almost thoughtlessly.

“I’ll be a moment.”

Will stared after him, two of the soldiers holding him in place. The open door of the truck was obscuring his view of Colonel Douglas and the other men; but he heard a series of clicks.

“What are you doing?” Colonel Douglas asked, sudden fear in his voice –

Will flinched, throwing his head into his lap as the drilling thunder of a Gatling gun rang out. He stared at the ground of the truck, the metal almost warping as he looked at it, remnants of his psychosis flickering at the edges of his vision. _That wasn’t real. I didn’t hear that. That wasn’t real. I didn’t hear that._

Kimbley rejoined them, rubbing his hands on his uniform and smelling faintly of gunpowder. “There we go. Now we can leave.”

“You son of a bitch,” Will whispered.

“I don’t know what you’re so mad at me for,” Kimbley said with a faint smile. “You’re the one who turned on your own unit, after all. It’s such a shame, losing so many good men like that-“

Will threw himself forward, forehead ramming into Kimbley’s nose with a crunch. The soldiers hauled him back into the seat, and Kimbley stared at him in surprise, blood dripping from his nose.

“Watch your fucking mouth, or you’ll be next,” Will seethed.

And, to his surprise, Kimbley began to laugh. He reached up and, without so much as a pause, snapped his nose back into place, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to dab away the blood. “I knew you’d be an interesting one, Will. Diana practically raised you, and god knows that woman makes hellfire look warm and cuddly. But this is going to be _fun._ ”

“What’s going to happen to me?”

“Oh, I don’t know. They don’t tell me the details. But if I were you, Will-“ Kimbley’s eyes glittered dangerously. "I would keep your cards a little closer to your chest."

Will had expected a morphine needle or something similar. Instead, one of the soldiers drew back his fist, and clocked him in the side of the head. There was a flash of kaleidoscopic light behind his eyes, and then – nothing at all.


	36. Maps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for internalized ableism, PTSD, in-depth food descriptions, discussion of legal/governmental homophobia, drinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes!
> 
> Ishvalan sign language isn’t based off any specific sign language, since I don’t know any Semitic sign languages; the fingerspelling shown here is based on the dual-alphabet system used in the Ishvalan conlang I’ve been building over here (). The shavela are the consonants, and the eivai are the vowels, which in the written form are diacritics. As given, Ridwan’s name is spelled RIDUAN in Ishvalan, but is spelled here as Ridwan both to invoke the Arabic name and also so it’s pronounced properly (-wa- instead of oo-aa/oo-wa). Angat-Zabshaj is how Ishvalan last names are formed! Originally patronymic, they’ve gone through the same process many languages have where they’ve formed clan/family names. So about 100-200 years ago (fairly recently) Ridwan’s father would have been Zabshaj angat-(something). Now, however, Ridwan angat-Zabshaj’s father is Neukeb angat-Zabshaj, etc. His name is pronounced [rid-‘WAN ANG-at zab-SHY] – note that there is no hard g in ‘angat’ since the letter is ‘ng’ (ngota), and that all of the a sounds in here are like in father.
> 
> Havoc is trying very hard to learn how to say ‘ni hao’ (hello) properly in Mandarin! Diana can’t help much because while this is one of the phrases that’s technically the same in Mandarin and Cantonese, it’s pronounced very differently (Neih hou). Āi and hè are standard Mandarin exclamations, sort of vaguely translatable as “huh- AHHH”..
> 
> Jiù-jiu and kau fu both mean uncle - Niú zuì niú means “tough as nails ox” xD. Zhī yā jiā/zhi ngaa gaa means, roughly, family branch/branch family in Mandarin and then Cantonese. Unfortunately, Cantonese is by far more difficult for me to translate and does not always include the tones in a way that transfers well, so I often can’t include the correct tones for Cantonese/Guangdong.
> 
> Finally re: language, while transcribing ESL is always going to sound kind of Implicitly Racist, I’ve tried (as much as a native English speaker reasonably can!) to have it be actually realistic to the differences between Chinese and English that I know of. Mandarin doesn’t have tenses in verb conjugations (I think this is true of both Mandarin and Cantonese, but Cantonese is harder to research) and doesn’t use articles like ‘the/a’ or ‘it’ in the usual constructions you see in English. So while I’m not like, as consistent about this as I wish I was, I’ve tried to stay WELL away from the stereotypical bullshit and instead, Huan and Ranfan have a hard time with articulating tense differences (past/present/future), sentence constructions that in English involve ‘it is’, etc. (‘It is raining’, ‘it isn’t a big deal’, etc.), and then the classic ESL problem of idioms (Havoc’s name is STILL my favourite Does Not Translate Well moment so far.) I do want to make a point of saying, though, if you’re a fluent or native speaker of either Mandarin or Cantonese and I’ve made an EGREGIOUS mistake, please feel free to point it out! <3
> 
> The Wilde Act was passed in 1854 and the Radclyffe Amendment in 1880; these are named after Oscar Wilde and John (Marguerite) Radclyffe Hall and dated to their birth years. The information about “bosom friends” and “confirmed bachelors” is, by the way, completely true.
> 
> Song is by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

~36~

_Don't stray  
Well, my kind's your kind  
I'll stay the same  
Pack up, don’t stray  
oh say, say, say_

_- **Maps**_

He was going to kill her.

Correction, the Ishvalan thought to himself; he was going to kill her if her condition didn’t do it first. She was passed out on the ground in front of him. Again.

“You are more trouble than you’re worth,” he growled.

She didn’t respond. That was how he knew she was actually unconscious. Well, he hadn’t dragged her this far to leave her for the vultures _now._ He bent down and slung her over his shoulder.

_You could be a little gentler,_ Marcoh protested, but he ignored him. The doctor was officially getting on his last nerve. That was the problem with his little trick – he didn’t actually know how to get _rid_ of them later. That, he admitted to himself with a sigh, and he didn’t think he had the stomach to actually throw souls into the maelstrom. There was killing people, then there was dooming their souls. There were worse things to be nagged about. 

True to form, about half an hour to an hour later, there was a slow, weak hammering of fists on his back. He snorted. “Oh, you’re awake now. Good,” he shot over his shoulder.

Another smack of a fist on his back.

“No,” he sighed, “I’m not putting you down. There’s an abandoned barn about ten minutes away, and we’re going to rest there.”

_Another_ fist.

“I’ll let you walk again on your own when you’re honest with yourself about your condition.”

…She didn’t smack him that time. Maybe she was actually listening. Or she’d just given up on communication through angry flailing.

He had to admit, it was kind of nice having actual company, even if she was a captive audience. He’d forgotten that he was lonely. Six years, now, he’d been alone; after that long, you just sort of got used to it. it certainly hadn’t improved his social skills, but to be fair, he hadn’t been any good with people _before,_ either. There was a reason he’d become a monk. It helped that she wasn’t Amestrian. The country was significantly less white than anybody wanted to admit, really; the times when he was able to almost completely avoid Amestrians were his favourite.

They reached the barn, and he was satisfied to find that it was still abandoned. Nobody else had moved in except for a few rats. “I stayed here when I was last out this way,” he said, before hauling Juliet off of his shoulder and plonking her down on a heap of straw.

She glared up at him, arms crossed.

“Don’t look at me like that. You want to die so badly, do it somewhere else.”

She continued to glare – then used one of the few signs he’d managed to show her so far. _Die._

Great. Two days of learning actual communication skills and she was already figuring out how to insult him with them. He couldn’t help but laugh – and she actually had the grace to look a little embarrassed. “At least you’re remembering the signs.”

Her hands fell to her lap, and he immediately felt bad for laughing. It clearly embarrassed her, not being able to talk. He hadn’t been able to get a look at the damage, but the careful way she sipped at the food and drink he’d managed to get for her had given away what the problem was – her tongue. It didn’t surprise him. The homunculi were cruel above all else. His transformation had been proof of that. Then she signed, _Name._

Name? What did-

Oh.

_You had to know that was coming at some point,_ he berated himself. The truth was, he’d almost forgotten. He didn’t tell people his name. He’d given it up after the transformation – he didn’t deserve what was meant to be a gift from Ishvala.

_Name,_ Juliet signed again, a little more insistently.

“No,” he replied.

She gave him a skeptical look, and he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s… complicated.” He paused. “I don’t… Get some sleep.”

_Name._

“Juliet, please. I can’t-“ Then he stopped, sighing. He didn’t _deserve_ a name. But he could be hard on himself all he liked, she still had to call him something. And…

He leaned against the barn wall, unwanted memories making a vivid appearance. His brother, Shachar. The woman who’d destroyed his faith, left him a shaking mess. The man who’d killed him. All of them blurred together, making it impossible to separate the good memories from the bad.

He sat down, suddenly not trusting his legs. He avoided thinking about these things. The last few years, he’d managed to barely think about anything at all. Only what was in front of him. The next goal. The next target. The next day, the next night. What had changed? Certainly not just Juliet.

_Go. Find your brother._

Saving lives instead of taking them. He’d forgotten he was capable of that.

Juliet moved – carefully, and slowly – across the barn, sitting next to him. It was the most affection she’d shown on her own. Even before whatever had ripped her tongue out, he imagined, she hadn’t been the most warm and cuddly person. That was fine. Neither had he.

“I suppose I won’t have to hear you say it,” he mused – then got punched on the shoulder. She was glaring at him less strongly, though. It was hard to remember that what he meant entirely genuinely didn’t always come out at that way, but she seemed to be catching on.

He spelled it out, first. Ostensibly to make her practice; mostly so he could put off saying it out loud just a little longer. It was Ishvalan sign language he was teaching her anyway, so the _shavela_ came first on the right hand, then the _eivai_ on the left _;_ Ruri-Dara-Nara then Ibbe-Umei-Arun I-U-A.

Juliet followed the letters with confusion.

“Ridwan,” he said, finally. “My name is Ridwan angat-Zabshaj.”

She nodded slowly, taking it in. if she kept up with learning the sign language, a sign would show up eventually – a name-sign that he could use instead. Still, it felt good to say it again. It hurt- but it felt like home.

* * *

It was hard, trying to decide whether or not it was safe checking on her little group of miscreant travellers. But in the end, Diana figured it couldn’t do that much harm – Mustang knew about them anyway, and he clearly wasn’t that dedicated to actually _finding_ them. At least, that was what she told herself. Truthfully she just – god. She desperately needed to remind herself that it had been worth it.

She hadn’t expected, however, to open Dr. Knox’s door and walk into Havoc eagerly, if poorly, repeating Xingese words back to Ranfan – who sounded _tremendously_ amused by the whole thing.

“Nee ha?”

“ _Terrible!_ ”

“Haw?”

Ranfan burst into a fit of giggles, and Huan, leaning against the wall, had a pained look on his face. Then Havoc turned to see her- and turned bright red. “C-Colonel!”

“I was _wondering_ what you were doing with your evenings.”

“Any chance you can help me?”

“I’m afraid not, unless you want to confuse every Xingese speaker you meet,” she replied, trying not to laugh – and when Havoc just blinked, she said, “ _Neih hou._ ”

Huan’s hand met his face with a tremendous _smack,_ and Ranfan blew a raspberry.

“That doesn’t sound _anything_ like what she said,” Havoc said, sounding even more confused.

“It isn’t.” Diana hesitated – then pulled off her coat and uniform jacket. She’d overheat otherwise, and the black shirt was enough. Besides, why be shy around Havoc now? “My Xingese and theirs isn’t really the same language. Close, but no cigar.”

“But they’re both called Xingese?”

She pulled a face. “It’s complicated.”

“Sorry, uh-“ Ranfan asked, rubbing her forehead. “ _Cigar?”_

Diana smiled a little sheepishly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Like your name?” she shot at Havoc with a sigh of frustration.

“Like my name.”

Then Diana paused. Dr. Knox she could hear on the phone. Bao was in the kitchen. Ranfan and Huan were in front of her –

“Where’s Juliet?”

Huan’s face turned stormy. If she’d needed any reassurance that he was much better at understanding Amestrian than speaking it, that was it. It was Havoc, however, who answered her.

“She, um – apparently took off in the middle of the night. With a tube in her chest and everything.”

Jesus _christ._ “Why?”

Ranfan pulled her jacket around herself, but Diana already knew that her arm had been amputated, even if the empty sleeve hadn’t been obvious. The guilt on her face said plenty, even if she clearly didn’t trust her ability in a foreign language enough to communicate it.

…Well, that explained why Havoc was trying to learn Xingese, at least. Or part of why. Diana could put the pieces together, but the actual _story_ was almost impossible to get until the language barrier became easier to navigate. Not for the first time, Diana wished she’d actually kept up with her Xingese. Her mother hadn’t made any real effort to teach it to her, and even then, it was the wrong kind. She understood bits and pieces, scraps of what they said – but it was pronounced strangely, and sometimes really _was_ an entirely different language. At least if she’d been confident that she spoke her own tongue well, it would have been a much lower hurdle.

She glanced into the kitchen. “Havoc, I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to make sure Bao isn’t causing any trouble.”

Huan snorted a little at that, which was _probably_ a good sign. The truth was, she was just curious. The boy clearly wasn’t much of a warrior, especially with the way his uncle was protecting him. Which begged the question of why he was _here._

At least the more local question was an easier one to answer. Bao was in Dr. Knox’s kitchen because, apparently, he’d taken it over. Knox had lived like a bachelor ever since his wife and son had left, which meant his dry stores had gone mostly untouched in favour of ground meat, tinned beans and other easy meals. Bao, however, was clearly somebody who cooked when he was anxious. There was a giant bowl of either dough or batter next to him, and he was throwing the batter onto a flaming hot griddle, peeling the thin pancakes off with bare fingers after only a few seconds, flipping them, and then chucking them onto a plate. On the next burner over, a pan sizzled on low. There was some sort of diced or ground meat in there, simmering in a sauce that smelled _amazing._ Diana leaned over, filching a spoon from the drawer –

-and got smacked on the hand for her trouble. He hadn’t even _looked._

She chuckled, standing back – then picked up the tin of Spam with a skeptical look. “Huh. I would not have thought this could smell good.”

“Hè-?” Bao half turned- “Āi!”

Diana chuckled, then covered her mouth as Bao tottered a little on the stool he was using, then determinedly moved his griddle off the heat, crossed his arms, and glared at her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He replied in rapid-fire Xingese, and she sighed, still smiling, but _completely_ lost. The only syllables she’d managed to catch were _jiù-jiu –_ which she’d probably known what it meant ten years ago.

There was a laugh from behind her, and Huan sat down at the table, his bulk still intimidating but the soft look on his face counteracting it. “He mistakes you for me.”

“…Oh, jiu-jiu is-“

“Me. Yes. In Guangdong, kau fu _._ ”

Diana immediately felt a little more comfortable. They hadn’t managed to actually talk about it before, the fact that she spoke Guangdong Xingese and not their type – Standard or Royal or whatever it was. There hadn’t been time. “You know some Guangdong. That helps. Thank you.”

“Not much. No need.” Then he gave her a strange, searching look. “Very little Guangdong-wa left.”

Diana shrugged. “My mother spoke it.”

“Ah. You are not from Xing.”

“Never left Amestris in my life.”

Huan nodded consideringly, then spoke to Bao – again, Diana found herself taken aback at the difference between his slow, considered, somewhat clumsy Amestrian and the speed at which he spoke Xingese to his nephew. She hadn’t _forgotten_ what it was like when somebody spoke Amestrian as a second language, but it had been an awfully long time.

Bao looked a little sulky, but then gave Diana a little bow, saying something before returning to his cooking.

“He apologizes. For yelling.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright! I didn’t mean to sneak up on him-“ Then she stopped. “Don’t you all have that, um…” She faltered, forgetting the word. “Qi?”

Huan chuckled a little at that, a deep sound that started somewhere in his chest. “If paying attention, yes.”

“If-“ Diana looked at Bao again. “Oh, I see.” When Bao was _that_ focused on his work, it didn’t occur to him to pay attention to anything else. Which –

She was starting to understand more and more, all the time, why Huan was so concerned for his nephew. “Do you know where Juliet might have gone?”

Huan took a moment, taking in the words and repeating them to himself in Xingese. Then he sighed, shaking his head. “Yingtai is…”

“ _Niú zuì niú?_ ” Bao offered over his shoulder, in a snarky tone Diana couldn’t possibly mistake, especially when Huan glared at him. Diana tried to pretend she didn’t know that at least the _first_ word meant ox.

“…Stubborn,” Huan substituted, still shooting daggers at his nephew. “Seeks more than her station. Above? Above her station.”

That was what had been bothering her, actually. “Huan, you two are meant to be her bodyguards, aren’t you? You and Bao?”

Huan didn’t answer. The kitchen was filled with the popping sound of Bao’s pancakes on the grill.

Diana sat back. “I still don’t know who you are. But Ranfan told me that you and Bao were-“

“She lies.”

“Why?”

“To protect Yingtai.”

“ _Why?_ ”

Huan rubbed the eyebrow above his false eye. “…There are fifty families.”

“Right. The… prince, whatever he was, that we fought was from one of them.”

He nodded. “Yao, like Ranfan. Yingtai, Bao, I, from Zhu. Oldest child is the heir. Younger…” He gave another frustrated groan. “ _Zhī yā jiā_? Guangdong-wa, _zhi ngaa gaa.”_

She hadn’t heard that phrase before. Family twig, family-

_Oh._ “Family branch?”

“Yes! Yes. Oldest, heir. Younger, branch family. This is law, cannot be changed.” Huan seemed exhausted just from the effort of trying to translate all of this, and Diana couldn’t blame him. She probably sounded worse in Xingese, and _she_ wasn’t translating complex political concepts.

Wait. She ran through it in her head. The younger sibling was part of the branch family. So, that meant – she assumed, anyway – they were support.

Oh, bloody hell. “Yingtai is the _younger_ one, isn’t she?” Diana sighed.

Huan nodded, looking for all the world like he had a migraine. “Two years.”

“And Bao is the heir.”

Huan looked a little like he’d sucked on a lemon, but he nodded. Diana looked at Bao again – portly, happier cooking than he was anywhere else, too fascinated by what he was doing to keep up his basic defenses, with a smooth face and wide eyes that meant he probably wasn’t _quite_ all there… No wonder Huan was stressed. It wasn’t just the language barrier. Bao wasn’t the right person to inherit anything, and his younger sister seemed set to overthrow him given the chance.

“That’s why you’re not rushing off to find her.”

Huan sighed deeply. “I want to. But she is dangerous. I worry she hurts her brother – I worry about many things.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for her.” She gave him what she hoped was a comforting smile.

“Put her back in jail,” he said darkly, eyes cast heavenward. It took skill to be sarcastic in your second language, Diana thought, struggling not to laugh. It was a serious matter. She was just _enjoying_ herself, despite all indications to the contrary. Maybe she’d just missed home-

A plate appeared in front of her, and Bao talked at her in Xingese again. She didn’t need to know what he was saying to know that he was insisting that she ate. Well, Spam or not, it smelled good. And the moment she bit into it, she wondered if she should learn Xingese _just_ to get him to write down the recipe. Good lord. The boy was wasted in political headgames.

* * *

Jareth’s first day back in the office was already proving interesting. He wasn’t really supposed to be back yet, but with Falman gone, he’d sussed out pretty quickly that they were overwhelmed with sudden demands. It was fascinating to him, actually, that the homunculi becoming an “open secret” among the National Defense division was making things _less_ organized, not more. At least it was classified to their three units.

Even from his seat behind his desk, though, he couldn’t help but laugh as Breda slammed his head into his paperwork. “Aw, how bad can it be?”

“We have to do _three separate_ security checks on this State Alchemist before letting him read our files,” Breda shot back, “because he’s technically assigned to R&D. And then we have to officially transfer him. And _then_ we get to ask him if he knows anything about homunculi.”

“…Ouch.”

“I’ve got a hundred cenz riding on him knowing _fuck all,_ ” Breda grumbled, scrawling his initials in three separate places on the paperwork.

“Aw, he might be useful! It says Alfredson specializes in, uh, historical alchemical research? That’s got to be _something._ ” Fuery was trying to sound positive, and all Jareth could look at was the ink smudge on his nose.

“Yeah, and that _something_ is that we have had an awful lot of State Alchemists die lately.” Breda set the papers aside.

Breda wasn’t wrong, Jareth thought grimly. Solaris and Will had been two of the only State Alchemists outside of R&D to begin with, with Grand in infantry command. There was another guy in Connors’s National Defense unit who did something nasty with poisons, but Jareth didn’t like Connors’s unit at the best of times. A little _too_ eager to go after supposed spies. And then Baer had refused any alchemists in his unit from the get-go, citing Order 3099 as proof that they were more of a _risk_ to national security than anything else. That was just Central – but the East was just as low on alchemists after the Beast’s rampage there, including three recent ones who had up and quit after Will had been attacked. If the Fullmetal Alchemist had barely escaped with his life, they’d reasoned, there was _nothing_ worth keeping that chain on them, not even the hefty sanctions involved with abandoning even a non-combat post with two years left on their initial contract.

Which was all well and good. Except now, they didn’t have any alchemists within the military to ask for help.

“He might be useful, to be honest,” he said, and Breda glanced up at him with surprise. “The, uh – the homunculus I was dealing with was at _least_ three hundred years old.”

“Bullshit,” Breda replied.

“No, he’s serious,” Havoc said from his desk. He’d been oddly quiet so far, but Jareth appreciated the backup. He hadn’t actually _talked_ about the encounter much, and he wasn’t sure what Havoc had actually said. “I wasn’t there for the Colonel and Valjean fighting him, but I swear to my mama, he looked like a teenager.”

“So maybe he _was_ a teenager. I mean, the chief is a whole sixteen years old and I would rather turn myself in than be the one pissin’ him off.”

“Not like this, Heymans.” Havoc sounded more serious than Jareth had ever heard him. “He wasn’t _human._ And what he did to that little girl…”

Breda didn’t have a comment to that. He just nodded, moving on to the next sheaf of papers. “I’ll take all the help I can get, honestly. I signed up for NatDef because I thought we were chasing down terrorists like Bard, not _this_ kind of crap.”

Jareth chuckled – then winced. Good thing he was staying seated today. “Yeah, trust me. I’m not particularly happy about it either.”

The rest of the day was much of the same, but he noticed that Havoc kept glancing at him, then away. It was odd. He and Havoc had worked together for almost five years now, and he’d never been _this_ squirrelly. He doubted it was anything serious – if it was serious, Jean would have gotten his shit together and just dealt with it. No, this was a different kind of anxiety. So once the clock hit five, he grabbed his temporary cane (which he was trying not to be embarrassed about) and stood in front of Havoc’s desk.

“Hey, you.”

“Y-yes, sir?”

“Call me sir again and I’ll hit you with this, Havoc. We’ve been over that a thousand times.” He couldn’t help the grin when he said it though, especially when Havoc turned red. “Come get a drink with me?”

“You sure?” Havoc looked a little hesitant, and Jareth bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to let himself jump to conclusions. It was just as likely that Havoc was worried about him taking laudanum or something as it was that he’d either guessed or been told why _exactly_ Jareth had been gone for a month.

“Yeah, come on. I need some company that isn’t Sheska or the Colonel.”

“Oh, poor you,” Havoc drawled, and Jareth reached forward to smack him on the back of the head. “Fine, fine, but you’re buying. I am _skint_ broke.”

“What makes you think I’m any less broke?”

“…Desperate hope?”

“I’m teasing, man.” Jareth knew where most of Havoc’s money went. He couldn’t imagine having _ten_ brothers and sisters. One was quite enough. “But don’t go taking advantage of my generosity. The hundred-year-old whisky will be _another_ day.”

“And I was getting so excited, too.”

Jareth managed his way onto the elevator and managed to let the doors close on him and Havoc before letting out a vivid curse. Havoc’s eyebrows flew up his face.

“You okay?”

“Yes. I hate this cane. It’s supposed to help and it just makes it fuckin’ _worse._ Here, you hold it.” He shoved the cane into Havoc’s hands, and Havoc stared at it in confusion.

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“I don’t know, pretend it’s a nightstick or something.” Jareth stole it back once the elevator opened again, because it _did_ help – it didn’t hurt any less without the cane. He just hated being injured. “I have no idea how the kid manages it.”

“Will? Oh, yeah. That automail hurts more than he lets on, huh?”

They chatted like that for a while, and much to Jareth’s pleasure, the tram was mostly empty when it showed up. He didn’t take it often – he and Diana had apartments close enough to Central Command that walking usually worked well enough – but all the good bars were a decent distance away. Once he and Havoc were in the back, he finally brought up the elephant in the – well, tram, he supposed.

“Alright, you. What are you so cagey about?”

Havoc started, practically jumping out of his seat. “Cagey? I don’t know what you-“

“Is this about the Colonel again? Because I told you, it’s fine.”

“No,” Havoc grumbled. “Sort of? No. It’s nothing.”

Jareth sighed. Havoc was usually such an easy guy to read. When he fell in love – or lust, more commonly – he was practically drifting above the floor. When his heart got crushed, he dragged himself around like a moping sloth. When he was anxious, he chain-smoked until there was ash caught in his three o’clock shadow. “Well, _something’s_ buggin’ you.”

“Is the giant hole in your abdomen not enough?”

…Oh. To be fair, he wasn’t used to being worried over. “Pfft. It’s fine. It hurts like a bitch, but most of _that’s_ because I burned it.”

“Yeah, I’ve… got some questions about that, actually,” Havoc murmured, almost to himself. “But this is so – I mean, of _course_ you’re back at work already.”

“What am I gonna do, play Solitaire until I shoot myself out of boredom?”

Havoc scowled at him – mostly, Jareth knew, to stop himself from laughing. “I’m allowed to worry about you!”

“Nope. You’re a baby-“

“I am _two years younger_ than you,” Havoc insisted. Jareth stopped for a moment, looking at him, and then thought to himself how absolutely tragic it was that he was straight. Why did straight boys have to be so damn cute? _Be fair,_ he thought. _You think most people are cute._

“Oh, this is our stop.” He hopped off the tram –

-and, son of a bitch, he almost _tripped._

Havoc caught him, subtly enough that nobody noticed. And, thank god, he didn’t say anything, and when Jareth shoved the cane at him, he just took it and hung it on his arm. Jareth didn’t _like_ being an invalid. He didn’t like fuckin’ limping around with an injury that was healing just fine and just had to shut up and let him go about his life –

“I was really scared,” Havoc admitted. “Down there, in the dark. And when I found out, later, that he’d almost killed you… I mean, that was, that was _scary._ ”

That helped. He straightened up, managed to keep his balance this time. It made sense, too. Havoc hadn’t been to war, hadn’t dealt with the mob, and _nobody_ had seen anything like Li– Lust before. “I was scared, too.”

“I almost thought you didn’t get scared,” Havoc said with a smile.

Jareth shouldered open the bar door, sighing as he ducked his head under the threshold. _Every_ damn place in this part of town. He was starting to suspect what was up with Havoc, which meant they needed privacy – so he grabbed a corner booth, one of the ones with a screen in front of it. If he was wrong, oh well. “I’m scared a lot of the time. You stop being scared, you stop being fast.”

“…I suppose.”

Havoc had gotten a gin rickey, and he nursed it, ice already starting to melt. It was funny – Jareth was so used to the drinks he and Diana favoured. He had an affection for cheap beer, she liked strong whiskey. It was almost weird seeing people drink other things, at this point – although, he thought with a laugh, he’d yet to take Sheska drinking. He wasn’t sure she’d touched a drop of alcohol in her life.

“I’m gonna say it again, Havoc. I _really do not mind_ that you and Di slept together.”

Havoc snorted with laughter – then downed the whole drink in one go. “I believe you,” he replied. “I’m not that insecure.”

Jareth couldn’t help it – he raised an eyebrow.

“I swear!” He turned a little pink, rubbing the back of his head with an embarrassed smile. “Now I’m wondering just _how_ bad I wear my heart on my sleeve.”

“Me and Di have been watching you trip on your own laces around her for six years now, so, there’s that.”

“Oh no,” he moaned. “That obvious?”

“I’m not the person to ask about obvious. Black Ops, remember?”

Havoc nodded thoughtfully. “…You make a good point.” He disappeared, and came back with another gin. When he raised it, though, Jareth put a hand on his arm.

“Slow _down,_ buddy.”

“I know, I know.”

Jareth left his hand on Havoc’s arm for a little longer than necessary, then gave it a squeeze before he pulled back, watching Havoc’s face a reaction. It was hard to figure out if he was blushing _more,_ or if he was flushed from the drinking, but he certainly wasn’t reacting badly.

“Um, about Will. The kid.”

“Will?”

Havoc rubbed his thumb over the rim of his glass. “I know it’s illegal to be gay, but I don’t really… get why. I mean, it’s stupid. Right? I’m not just, like, missing something.”

Jareth wondered if he was misreading Havoc entirely. It was possible. It wasn’t like ‘worrying about Will’ wasn’t one of _his_ regular pastimes. “I mean, depends who you ask.”

“I read the Wilde Act the other day. The whole thing, I mean. And I just – I don’t know. It’s bugging me.”

Jareth bit back the unfair response of _only now?_ Havoc hadn’t even known any queer people before joining the military. He’d found out about Jareth’s – admittedly not particularly hidden sexuality – when he’d walked in on him and a sweet kid from Investigations necking in the office after-hours, and he’d, very respectfully, only asked the one question. The question, admittedly, had been _but don’t men taste weird?_ But Jareth had gotten significantly, _significantly_ worse ones in his life. “Believe it or not, the Wilde Act is an improvement. Before it got passed, you couldn’t really defend yourself.”

“And now you can?”

“Oh yeah. The burden of proof’s on the state to prove that – what’s the wording they use?”

“That ‘gross acts of indecency occurred between two men’,” Havoc mumbled. “Two members of the same sex, after the Radclyffe Amendment.”

“You’ve been doing your homework. Good boy.”

It was another testing of the waters. Subtle enough to be a joke – but Havoc’s reaction was a little more obvious now. He took another drink of the gin, staring down at the table and determinedly not meeting Jareth’s gaze. “It’s kind of funny that they took… twenty years or something to make _lesbians_ illegal.”

“Oh yeah. The Wilde Act was, what, 1854? I don’t even remember what happened for them to do the Radclyffe Amendment. Just that it was funny.”

“Funny?” Havoc asked, sounding a little strangled.

“Aw, I don’t remember the details. It was something great like a politician’s daughter fucking her girlfriend in public or something. Took that much for them to realize that all those girls kissing each other weren’t just ‘best buddies’.”

Havoc paused, a sudden look of realization crossing his face. “Wait. Wait, shit. Jareth, is _that_ what bosom buddies means?”

“What did you-“

“Oh _no,_ my _sister’s a lesbian-_ “

Jareth almost collapsed onto the table wheezing. He’d only had the one drink, but it was _cute._ It was cute in a genuinely sincere way, watching Havoc process all of this stuff he’d never thought about before. “It doesn’t _always_ mean that. I wouldn’t go askin’ your sister about it unless you’re sure.”

“I just – I didn’t even _think_ about it!”

“Most people don’t. That’s the whole point. I mean, what do you think confirmed bachelor means?”

Havoc looked at him in confusion. “Somebody who definitely isn’t getting marri-“ Beat. “Oh. OH. Oh, that’s _amazing._ That’s like, secret code.”

“Pretty much. Especially outside the military, it’s not like you can just _tell_ people you’re gay, right? So there’s lots of ways of signalling it. Some more subtle than others.”

He nodded, sighing a little. “Like Will?”

“ _That_ is not so much on purpose. And a little more complicated, I think. But you’re not wrong.”

Havoc was quiet for a little while. Then he asked, vulnerability showing all the more, “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“I mean, you’re – bi, right? You’re just as happy with women as men?” When Jareth nodded, Havoc barrelled onwards. “So how do you – go after relationships with men knowing you could go to jail for it?”

God, that was a hard one to answer. Jareth took another swig of his beer, noting with a bit of a twinge that Havoc’s second drink was already gone. “I just… _do,_ I guess. I don’t know. It means I have to be more careful, but I’ve done plenty of illegal things in my life. It’s hard to convince myself something’s not worth it just because it’s breaking some dumb law.”

He moved his leg forward, just enough to brush his knee over Havoc’s. And Havoc bit his lip – not a lot, not for long, but enough for him to notice.

Yeah. Yeah, he’d read it right.

Jareth slid his hand across the table, closing his fingers over Havoc’s hand. “You want another drink, or you want me to walk you home?”

Havoc’s eyes lifted to his – a mix of conflicting impulses, identity crisis upon identity crisis. He licked his lips, and Jareth shoved his nerves down. This part didn’t always go well. Even _if_ he was right, it didn’t mean Havoc was in the place to admit it.

Havoc swallowed, then gave a cautious smile. “I’d, um. I’d like that.”

* * *

Jean Havoc wasn’t gay. He wasn’t. But he wasn’t drunk either – even if his gins had been doubles, there was no way he was _that_ out of it – and he _was_ kissing a man for the first time in his life. It was different than kissing a woman. Not bad different. But Jareth was more forceful than any of the girls he’d ever dated or slept with, and Jean felt like he was doing something wrong by finding it attractive.

It wasn’t raining – just drizzling, enough for the mist to rise up around them.

Jareth broke the kiss, Jean’s back still to the alley wall. They’d barely made it a few blocks from the bar. “So,” he asked, deep voice rumbling in Jean’s ear, “what brought _this_ on? Truth this time.”

Jean didn’t want to talk. Mostly, he wanted to drag Jareth back against the pulse in his chest and the absolutely _pounding_ erection in his trousers. But he’d been dodgy enough today. “I, um… when I talked to you about D- the Co- Diana-“

“Oh, that’s so cute.”

“Shut up. It…” Jean licked his lips, his breaths coming more heavily than he’d expected. “It turns you on. Doesn’t it? Hearing about her with… other men.”

“Ooh. Busted. And here I thought I was being at least a _little_ discreet.” Then he chuckled, nipping a little at Jean’s neck. “…And that got _you_ thinkin’ about it.”

“I – ah! – I just, _hadn’t_ before. I got in the habit of jokin’ about being straight, and you don’t think about that much, until…”

Until, well, you started thinking about your crush’s relationship, and realized you were just as turned on by thinking about the other man she was with as thinking about her.

Jareth stroked the pad of his thumb over Jean’s lips, his other hand sliding over the exposed patch of skin at the younger man’s waist. But then, he stopped. “Damn it,” he cursed under his breath.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jean asked immediately, nerves lighting up with anxiety – but Jareth chuckled and kissed him again, more lightly this time.

“Not a thing. I’m the one who’s all messed up.”

“…Does this mean you’re not going to fuck me?” Jean asked a little weakly. “-wait, no, not what I should be thinking about-“

“Mm, don’t blame you,” Jareth teased, brushing his knee between Jean’s legs.

“You’re _mean._ ”

“Sorry. Can’t help it.”

Jean brushed some of Jareth’s hair off his forehead, then drew his hand back, suddenly scared of how intimate a gesture it’d been. Part of him was almost relieved. He felt like his world was coming to pieces underneath him – maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t having sex tonight. Still… “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just –“ Jareth gave him a look that said, _very clearly,_ that given half the chance, he’d screw Jean senseless. Then he cleared his throat, pulled himself away, and tried to look a little more put together.

Jean wasn’t going to be dissuaded that easily. It was dark – there was no one around, not here on the side streets. He slid a hand into Jareth’s, feeling a little like a schoolboy. “You were gone for a month,” he said after a bit. “I figured something happened.”

Jareth glanced at him, then snorted. “Yeah.”

Jean paused. He really _did_ feel like a baby next to Jareth and Diana, sometimes. It wasn’t really about the age. He was some backwater Frankish officer who had more in common with Will’s rural hometown than where they’d grown up – and he may not have known details, but the broad picture came together when you knew somebody for long enough. So Instead, he leaned into Jareth’s shoulder as they walked along. “Thanks.”

The grin he got in return was worth it. “Hey, no problem. If I can solve any more of your problems with makeout sessions, let me know.”

“See, you keep teasing me like that, we’re gonna have a _problem._ ”


	37. The Punk And The Godfather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: severe sanism, implied child abuse, minor/well-intended homophobia, drug mention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is another of those songs where I used more lines than I should have because I had to resist the urge to use the whole damn song. If you’ve ever heard it/are familiar with it, you know EXACTLY why.
> 
> I have been eagerly looking forward to Kimbley’s entrance to this fic, in large part because of his differing characterizations in 2003 vs. Brotherhood. I, personally, prefer him in 2003 because his BH characterization sometimes leans a little too hard into “aren’t I so suave and cool while being an unapologetic Nazi”, but that said, there’s a lot of interesting stuff in his philosophy – particularly in how he seems to believe that everybody is secretly like him, he’s just the only one brave enough to say it out loud and actually live by a true philosophy. One thing I particularly wanted to play with was how he has a very intimate relationship with Greed in the 2003 series (subtext, but certainly pretty clear one way or another) but an implied friendship with Envy in BH. Here, I’ve tried to play him off of Jareth and Will in different ways, and I’m excited to show how that’s going to go. (Mwehehehehe.)
> 
> Archer, obviously, only shows up in 03, and is usually known for the infamous “Terminarcher” scene (which actually has its merits! But I do see why it’s memorialized. FMA 03 sometimes puts its metaphor ahead of its, uh, worldbuilding.) However, like Kimbley, he’s played off of Greed a lot, so I’m having some fun with that. Something interesting from 03 that doesn’t come up a lot, though, is that his mirrorworld counterpart is a Jewish collaborator hiding his origins. I’m not going to give away what exactly I’m going to do with that, but both Archer and Kimbley are characters I think I have a lot of potential re: the ‘collaborator’ angle; they’re certainly cast that way through subtext. They know what kind of monsters they’re helping. They just don’t care.
> 
> Finally (sorry! These are skippable!), Ed takes longer to start questioning the state than Will does, and that’s not just because it’s convenient or because I’m writing it – they’re positioned very differently from each other. Ed, ultimately, is pretty privileged in terms of actual oppressive dynamics; while he’s disabled, he’s functional enough that most people don’t have to worry about it, he’s “classically Amestrian”, and he’s (for all intents and purposes within both series, although there’s absolutely some room for interpretation in 2003) straight and cis. And that’s not a bad thing! But it means that he and Will are functionally coming at a similar story from different angles. Ed is the privileged kid suddenly learning that the world is unfair, was always unfair; Will, by contrast, is learning a different difficult lesson, that the issues he faces aren’t isolated, something he can avoid by being one of the “good ones” eventually, or something limited to just him. It’s harder for Ed (or Roy! given that this is more of something from 03) to believe that a state is fundamentally broken, because they’re people who already benefit from how it operates, and part of their reckoning is the understanding that whatever comfort they have attained has come on the backs of others; Will, while he still has white privilege and benefits from some elements of the state, can accept the premise a little more easily because he’s gotten just as much of the nastiness as he has the benefits.
> 
> “But, Elliott, I came here for fanfiction, not deep meta about structural oppression-“ too bad, my castle, and nobody lets me info dump at them anymore (I’m joking but also not, I swear you can skip these I PROMISE)
> 
> Song is by The Who.

~37~

_You declared you would be three inches taller  
You only became what we made you  
Thought you were chasing a destiny calling  
You only earned what we gave you-  
(And on the dance floor broken glass  
And bloody faces slowly pass  
The numbered seats in empty rows  
It all belongs to me, you know)_

**_-The Punk And The Godfather_ **

****

It was almost three days from Forcett to Central by car – three days instead of the less-than-one it would have been by train, because unlike the blasted rock that the tracks sat on, half of the automobile roads were still dirt, sometimes half-way paved, mostly used by carriages or horses this far out. Will woke up a few hours into the journey, jolted out of unconsciousness when the truck, for all of its military-grade standards, blew a tire.

Kimbley stayed where he was, and the soldiers filed out to take care of the tire and guard the truck while they were sitting ducks. That left the two of them facing each other.

“I see you’re awake,” he said after a moment.

“Wish I wasn’t. Got a terrible headache.”

“Here. Have some water.” Kimbley unscrewed the lid on the bottle he was holding, and leaned forward to hold it to Will’s lips. Will considered refusing out of spite and pride, but who knew when they’d next let him have some? And there was no way they were going to uncuff him. So he shoved the humiliation anyway, and sipped from the bottleneck, slurping as much as he could before Kimbley took it away.

Kimbley leaned back, putting the cap back on the bottle. “You’re not quite what I expected.”

Will refused to answer. Obviously, Kimbley had come prepared. The cuffs on his wrist weren’t chained together – they had a solid metal bar between them, keeping his hands apart, so he couldn’t transmute anything. As for Kimbley himself… He didn’t know what _he’d_ expected, from Minna Bradley’s murderer. He wore his uniform slightly unkempt, a little deliberately rumpled with an open jacket, but he had his long hair tied back into a tidy ponytail, silver chain around his neck adding a sense of – almost _style_ to the whole effect.

“I suppose I expected a more _classic_ psychopath,” Kimbley added after a moment, nearly smiling. He’d nearly mirrored Will’s thoughts, which just added salt to the wound, really.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You pull off the caring act extremely well, by the way. I’m impressed.”

An annoyed rankle ran up Will’s spine. “Act?” It hit just a _little_ too close to home, because he had to put a little more work in, sure, but-

“I’m afraid there’s not much point now. Whether you’re a full on psychopath or just a touch neurotic, you’re headed for the same place.”

Will swallowed, saliva so thick in his mouth he thought he might choke on it. “And where is that?” He tried to sound neutral. Kimbley seemed so relaxed, maybe this _was_ something he could get out of –

_No,_ he caught himself. That wasn’t going to work, because he _knew_ this play. Cat and mouse. It was the same thing he did when he was lulling somebody into a false sense of security.

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out already.” Kimbley inspected his fingernails carelessly – or faux-carelessly, anyway. “But very well. Let’s play.”

“You’re arresting me for disobeying orders. This is pretty simple.” Ball back in his court. Kimbley had to explain now -

“…Not quite. I never actually said I was arresting you.”

…He _hadn’t._ Will desperately ran through the possibilities in his head. Kimbley _was_ supposed to be in jail. Had he broken out? Falman had never actually managed to say the name of the alchemist who was supposed to be observing him. Maybe he wasn’t even destined for Central at all. Kimbley could have intercepted the _real_ State Alchemist on the way here. It was a possibility…

…except, Will realized with a sinking heart, it rested on a premise he couldn’t quite accept anymore. _I work for the good guys, who put the bad guys in jail._ Stupid, when you put it like that – but that was the lie, right? Sure, the military made _mistakes._ But prison was for Bad People. And if he was willing to accept that the military would never give rank and respect back to somebody who’d destroyed a passenger train while on duty, _then_ maybe he could convince himself that Kimbley was lying, acting outside the law. But that had been before Forcett. And that had been before the Ishvalan, and that had been before Lab 5, and that had been before the Red Stones.

The Ishvalan - _he was angry for a reason, wasn’t he?_

He waited for Selim to say something to stabilize him – to tell him that it was one thing to have to deal with the homunculi, but this was into the realm of conspiracy theorists – that there were lots of perfectly ordinary things he was forgetting about. But Selim’s fear and quiet heartbreak sat side by side in the back of his head, just as trapped, just as stuck.

“The handcuffs feel like an arrest,” was all he ended up saying out loud.

“I suppose it’s more of… taking you into custody. You _are_ a ward of the state, after all.”

“Emancipated,” Will spat.

“With conditions.” Kimbley seemed all too pleased at the situation. “How interesting. You don’t seem to have spent a single moment considering how precarious your position is.”

“Precarious-?”

“Four years ago, you murdered a man,” Kimbley said, voice smooth as silk, sounding more impressed than horrified. “The State – that is, our Fuhrer – pardoned you for it, because of extenuating circumstances, under the condition that you were to have an appointed therapist, _and_ officially be a ward of Amestris. That second detail hasn’t affected your life much. You’re a soldier, but you’re also an alchemist. You’ve done your research, gone on your missions, spent your pocket-money.”

Will swallowed his horror down the best that he could, smooth words unable to hide the truth. He’d thought he was a free man. The chains of the military had been tighter than he’d ever even _realized._ And he remembered these words, remembered the conditions, but they’d never sounded that bad – details, the reason he could live on his own, afford his hotel rooms, access the research he needed.

Selim was still quiet, but Will could feel his disorientation. Forcett had taken a toll on both of them, and the guilt chewed at him – especially because Will didn’t have any energy to spare. He’d drained _both_ of them. He hadn’t meant to. He just didn’t know how to stop it.

“So now what, I’m grounded?” He tried to sound careless, but a little shake entered his voice anyway.

“The Fuhrer’s had concerns about your fitness for service for a while.”

“Right. So I’m getting fired.”

Kimbley threw his head back and laughed. “If the military discharged violent psychopaths back into the general population, Will,” he said, voice a teasing purr, “I wouldn’t have spent the last seven years in prison. And I was much luckier than you. I don’t have a piece of paper declaring me insane. It’s just an open secret. _You,_ on the other hand-“

Will bit down so hard on his tongue that he tasted blood in his mouth.

“You’re not arresting me. You’re-“ He couldn’t even get it out, ducking his head to hide the frustrated, furious tears welling at the corners of his eyes. _Don’t give him any reaction. Everything can get used against you._

“The official term is – I believe ‘declaration of incompetence’. To be clear, though, I don’t have the authority to do so. It’s simply my job to bring you into custody and have you assessed –“

“-by people on the Fuhrer’s payroll, I’m sure.”

“Isn’t everyone, in the end?”

“…What do you get out of this?” he asked. _Keep it together,_ he ordered himself. He wanted Alex here. He wanted Alex here, so badly, to tell him what to do, how to act, how to pretend to be sane long enough for them to let him go. He didn’t know how. That was what was so _terrible._ Somebody who really was sane would still look crazy, in the wrong situation, at the wrong time. Somebody like him? It was all the harder for him to claim they were _wrong._

Kimbley’s fox-faced smile eased off just for a moment, and he looked thoughtful. He kept calling himself a violent psychopath, some sort of idle joke to pass the time, or maybe trying to make Will scared of him. “I’m following orders. And it means they let me out. But really… you intrigue me.”

Will tried not to feel a little nauseous at that. Kimbley had no idea why Will had every reason to hate him, apparently. Why would he? He probably hadn’t even known Minna’s name. “I’m flattered.”

“You should be. People like us are rarer than you’d think.”

“ _People like us?”_ Will clenched his fists behind his back, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. Between that and the quip about the ‘caring act’-

Kimbley didn’t respond. He just watched Will with a piercing, assessing stare, and a moment later, the soldiers filed back in.

Will sat back, trying to force himself to calm down. There was every chance this was a mix-up. Sure, he’d acted out of bounds in Forcett. But he hadn’t killed those soldiers, Kimbley had. And Solaris would listen to him. Solaris knew he was a little _off,_ but he wasn’t like that. Tucker had been – different. And he’d changed since then. Solaris, Hughes, Valjean – they _all_ knew that. Even Mustang – he _hated_ Mustang, but Mustang wasn’t going to shove him into a prison cell or an asylum and forget about him. He was too useful.

He closed his eyes. _Selim?_

But Selim was asleep. He was all alone, with only desperate hope as protection against the fear in the darkness.

_It’s a misunderstanding,_ he told himself. It sounded weaker the more and more he said it – _Solaris will fix it. She’ll know what to do._

\---

Alex had somehow expected that they’d be walking or driving to Central – something otherwise incognito, like how Envy had simply _walked_ to Dublith with him. Instead, to his surprise, when they assembled in the morning, he was handed one of Dante’s suitcases (really?) and told to take them to the train station.

“We’re… taking the _train?_ ”

Envy snorted, then covered his mouth. “Sorry.”

“What, did you think we were walking?” Dante asked, a hint of a tease in her voice. Alex struggled to contain his blush.

“N-no. Of course not.”

“Mm. You three may be immortal and tireless, but _I’m_ certainly not.” She exited the house, and Alex noted with some surprise that one of Sloth’s clones was driving the car to take them to the station. Or, he sighed as the car pulled away, _just_ Dante.

“Don’t take it personally,” Envy laughed, picking up another suitcase. “She’s still used to being old. _We’re_ strapping young men.”

That was true, even if Sloth showed up behind Envy just in time to give the back of his head a swat. “I’m a _woman,_ thank you.”

“You’re a baby.”

“I’m old enough. And older than you treat me.”

“In that case, you can carry one of these.” Envy shoved a suitcase into Sloth’s arms, and she withered a little.

“…I got myself into that one, didn’t I?”

“Afraid so.”

“Of course the new kid’s taking your side,” Sloth grouched. “Fine. _Fine._ I will be a packhorse with you two.”

At least it was a nice day. And they really weren’t _that_ heavy. Dante had taken a bag of her own with her, so most of these were – Alex guessed – books and clothes. He was a little curious about what she couldn’t leave behind, but Dante clearly wasn’t as mobile as the others. Envy and Pride and Sloth could hop around from city to city; Dante made a little more of a production of moving.

“Is it… _safe_ for us to take the train?” Alex asked after a bit, still a bit worried. He glanced over at the island, but averted his gaze before either of them noticed.

“Wouldn’t see why not. Dante doesn’t look anything like she did, and Sloth and I don’t exactly raise eyebrows.”

“You say that,” Sloth grumbled. “I got asked where my _mommy_ was last time.”

“And I rest my case that kicking him in the crotch was the wrong move.”

“It shut him up! Insulting little-“

Alex chewed on his lip. He really didn’t know _what_ Will would have said to Solaris, if anything. He knew he wasn’t recognizable at the moment, but it still made him nervous.

Envy noticed, though, and he gave Alex a little nudge with his shoulder. “It’ll be fine. Promise.”

“Promise?”

“ _Promise._ ”

Sloth scoffed, eyes rolling heavenward. “Oh, what, are you going to summon a rainbow next? How about this, I’ll beat the crap out of anybody who gives you trouble?”

“ _Sloth._ ”

“What? That’s better than a charming smile!”

“You do it _with_ a charming smile. That’s _worse._ ”

Alex smothered a laugh, watching the two of them bicker. They really _were_ like siblings. It was harder than he’d thought, reminding himself to stay scared of Sloth. Not just because of the little-girl act; the longer he watched her interact with Envy, the more he saw the tough act for what it was.

“What are _you_ laughing at, newbie?”

“Oh, nothing, just – you guys keep using the word siblings. I didn’t realize you were serious.”

Sloth scoffed so dramatically that at first Alex thought she was joking. “ _Absolutely not._ ”

“Ooh dear,” Envy mumbled, but smiling just a little.

“If Pride calls me his little sister one more time I am going to strangle him.”

“Sloth, he’s four hundred years old.”

“ _He’s what-“_ Alex wheezed quietly in the background-

“I don’t care if he’s a thousand years old, he’s the most clueless man in history. And-“ she stamped her foot- “I’m _horny!_ ”

“Too much information. Too much information,” Alex started chanting under his breath.

Envy, to his credit, was managing to almost keep a straight face. “I’m not talking about my brother’s sex life with you, Sloth. Again, because it doesn’t exist.”

“I still don’t believe you.”

“That doesn’t make it not true.”

Sloth just marched off slightly ahead with a ‘humph’. Envy slid back next to Alex, eyes still sparkling. “…You’re completely _right._ She’s just-“

“Um. Yeah. I got that.” Alex blinked, then decided to take it one question at the time. “Is Pride _actually_ four hundred years old?”

“Give or take. I get fuzzy on the exact dates.”

“Are _you_ that old?”

Envy looked upwards, mouthing something to himself. Alex stared at him, mouth slightly open. “You _forgot?_ ”

“It gets hard to remember! I’m… uh… about three hundred?”

Alex just stared at him, then stared at the ground passing by underneath him. Was _he_ going to live that long? …Did he _want_ to? He couldn’t imagine what that was going to feel like. He had trouble imagining turning eighteen. Thirty seemed ancient.

“…What about Sloth?”

“Oh, Sloth’s eleven. Twenty, if you include the human years.”

Alex nodded, almost uncomprehending. “…That. Explains a lot. Okay.”

Envy laughed again, a genuine note of affection in it. “It does, doesn’t it?”

“You’re talking about me again,” Sloth grouched from behind Envy with a pop and flash of white light.

“I am! Mostly about how you’re tiny – _ow._ ” Envy rubbed his tailbone with a wince, and Alex backed away from Sloth.

“I have no part in this,” he claimed quickly. “As far as I’m concerned, you are a grown-up adult who knows much more than I do.”

“You bet your _ass_ I do.” Sloth waggled the briefcase she was holding at him threateningly.

Alex watched them, still entertained, but another thread of uneased was coiling around his insides. He didn’t trust Dante – he didn’t trust any of them. Even if he was letting himself tease and joke around with them, it was because he didn’t know how else to stay safe – but he still wanted to believe that Envy was good. If he believed that Envy was a good person in a bad situation, then he could believe that he hadn’t been duped, that he wasn’t a total idiot, that he’d just – gotten some of the details wrong. Dante was lying about _something,_ but she had him questioning everything he heard, everything he remembered. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he was on the right side and he’d been right the first time and he needed to stop overthinking –

But he could still do math. Sloth didn’t look the way she did because of some quirk of the transformation, or because she’d wanted to look that way. And Envy had given away early on that not all the homunculi were like him, built from scratch.

_Eleven. Twenty, including the human years._

Maybe _Envy_ had done the math wrong.

He hoped so.

\---

He hadn’t meant to spend the night with Jean. Not like that – it’d been surprisingly chaste. But the moment he’d gotten Jean to his apartment, he’d almost collapsed, and Jean had taken a look at his injury, almost slapped him and pulled him into bed. It wasn’t what Jareth was used to from men – falling asleep cuddling – but it was nice. A lot sweeter than he was used to getting, especially without asking for it.

The worst part was, really, that he’d sat up, looked at Jean while he was still sleeping, and known that he couldn’t risk it. Most people thought he was a tough kind of guy, the kind who was mostly out for sex, and that suited him fine. The truth was, he fell in love quickly, and often, and usually with blinders on that he couldn’t afford. Maybe not the kind of love that other people considered “real” or “true” love. If it was what people wrote about in storybooks, he probably wouldn’t have been able to hurt Ling at all.

Jareth got dressed, ran a hand through Jean’s hair, set his alarm to wake him up in an hour and headed to work. Between Ling – Lust – whatever his name had been, and the horrid realization that he’d been _careless_ and ended up thinking things about Will that never should have crossed his mind, it was too dangerous to get involved with anybody else right now. He was carrying too much baggage to hold anybody else’s for them.

It was a shame, though. Jean was _really_ cute.

“Funny,” Breda said from around the pastry in his mouth, holding the elevator open for him. “I didn’t think you took the tram.”

“Usually don’t. I was at Havoc’s last night.”

“Oh?” Breda waggled his eyebrows –

“Not like _that,_ you fuck. We’ve established that, unfortunately, I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell with any of you handsome devils.”

“You get points for the hell and devils metaphor,” Breda commented, waggling the half-eaten danish at him. “That’s poetry. It’s kind of a shame, though. I don’t know what it is about being shamelessly promiscuous that means you can actually pull off those dreadful sunglasses.”

“…I can’t tell if you’re flattering me or not.”

“I can’t tell either.”

“I missed you too, asshole.”

He reached for the office door handle –

“Haberkorn?”

_Holy shit._

He forced himself not to react, continuing to open the door.

“Haberkorn, I know that’s you-“

“Who is he talking to?” Breda asked in confusion. Jareth straightened up.

“No idea,” he replied, “but I think he _thinks_ it’s you.” _Sorry, Breda,_ he added mentally.

Frank Archer was striding down the hallway, looking as slimy and self-satisfied as ever. “I’d heard rumors that you’d joined the military, but I never believed them. That is some _impressive_ arrogance.”

Of all the people to show up in Central. Well, he’d spent so much time planning for the possibility. He’d just never thought it would actually _happen._

“Sir,” Breda replied with a truly satisfying amount of scorn, “I don’t know who you think I am, but my name certainly isn’t Haberkorn. Second Lieutenant Heymans Breda.”

“Lieutenant-Colonel Frank Archer. And I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to _him._ ” Archer pointed his hideously sharp chin at Jareth, who had been seeing if he could sneak into the office without Archer noticing.

“…Yeah, my name’s not Haberkorn, either. Second Lieutenant Jareth Valjean.” Man, it felt good saying that. It felt better seeing the dumbfounded look on Archer’s face. Sure, he _looked_ like Grant Haberkorn. But he didn’t _sound_ like him. He hadn’t even been sure, really – not until now.

“How have you _still_ not been promoted?” Breda asked.

“Insubordination and bad manners, mostly.”

Archer narrowed his eyes at Jareth, who just raised an eyebrow at him in return. _Suck my cock, you double-dealing prick,_ he thought quietly, then added internally, _Also, still remembering my name after ten years just makes you pathetic._

“…Apologies, soldier,” he spat through gritted teeth. “I must have mistaken you for somebody else.”

“Happens all the time. I got one of those faces.”

Then – to Jareth’s horror – _Archer_ let himself into the office. Fuck. He and Diana could have pulled it off separately, but together it was going to be a hard sell. Hopefully the accents would throw him off. And, to be fair, it would take balls bigger than Archer had _ever_ had to accuse a Colonel of being a cheap whore.

He backed off from the door, chewing on the inside of his cheek – and Breda turned, giving him a curious look. “…Haberkorn, huh?” he asked.

Go figure. Breda hadn’t bought it for a second. He chuckled nervously. “No idea.”

Breda just raised an eyebrow – which was fair, Jareth conceded, because Breda was the man who’d noticed that Jareth didn’t gamble even though he still collected lucky charms, and who despite not being ‘in’ on the Alex business, had asked at least once who Will’s “silent partner” was. Then he mouthed, “What did you _do_ to him?”

Jareth backed away from the office door a little, and leaned down, just as quiet. “As far as I’m aware, Grant Haberkorn, who I don’t know and have never been affiliated with, stole one million cenz from Maximilian Heinkel, and – uh – might’ve pinned it on Archer.”

“As in the leader of the Halk-?!”

“Yes. Shut up.”

Breda’s eyes looked ready to pop out of his head, and then he cleared his throat. “Shame this Haberkorn guy isn’t around. He sounds cool.”

“He’s a _criminal,_ ” Jareth grouched. “Cool doesn’t quite cut it.”

Breda nodded sagely – then glanced at the office door. “We gotta get rid of him, huh?”

…As much as he’d never really thought about what the reaction would be, Jareth had to admit, loyalty still confused and pleased him in equal measure. He wasn’t sure what he’d _done_ to earn Breda’s friendship, but hey. “I mean, let’s see why he’s here. I doubt it’s on my account.”

He opened the door.

Archer was standing in the middle of the office, waiting, and Jareth felt a cold trickle drip down his back. On the opposite end of the room, the door to Diana’s office opened, and she stared at Archer, eyes cold as ice. “Lieutenant-Colonel Archer, don’t you have somewhere to be? I thought you were on the Hughes murder case.”

“Oh, I am, Colonel.”

Jareth approached him. “Whatever your issue is with me, I suggest you take it elsew-“

He didn’t expect the hand on the back of his neck, and if he hadn’t been injured, it wouldn’t have worked. Frank had never even tried using physical force with him – he’d always known it would end with Frank eating curb – but now, well, the odds had evened significantly. Archer slammed his face into the desk, and as his head spun, he felt cuffs click around his wrists.

“What are you doing to my subordinate? Uncuff him, _now –_ “

“Jareth Valjean, you’re under arrest –”

_Valjean._ Not Haberkorn.

“ – under suspicion of the murder of Brigadier-General Maes Hughes.”

There was a moment of silence. Then the office erupted into shouts of fury. Breda and Fuery, mostly, Falman wasn’t here at all, and Havoc – oh god. Jean wasn’t in yet. And Diana –

Jareth looked over his shoulder. Diana had seized Archer by the arm, gloved fingers pressing into his bicep. “Whatever you think you’re doing,” she hissed, “this is a bad idea. We can work something out.”

Archer yanked his arm away. “Whatever you’re offering, _Laura,_ ” he leered, “I’m no more interested now than I was then.”

“You have the wrong person.”

“I don’t think I do. And, unfortunately for you, this is simply the results of an investigation.”

“Then I want to see your evidence,” she demanded.

“I’m afraid that constitutes a conflict of interest. Besides, are you willing to stake your career on his innocence?”

_Yes,_ Jareth pleaded with her internally. But that was the scared part of him. He knew what she had to do, what she was going to do. It didn’t mean it hurt any less when she fell silent and backed away.

“This is ridiculous!” Fuery protested. “You can’t just- we _need_ him!”

“It’s okay, Fuery,” Jareth said, wincing a little as Archer yanked him upright a little harder than necessary. “Havoc’ll be here in a bit. Between the four of you you’ll be fine. This is just a misunderstanding.”

With the way Archer was holding him, he didn’t think so. But it was the only thing he had to offer for comfort.

Breda wasn’t watching him, though. Breda was watching Archer. And suddenly, Jareth was _glad_ that, joke or not, he’d mentioned Grant Haberkorn to Breda, probably the smartest man in the room. He just hoped it wouldn’t be necessary – because if Grant Haberkorn came up, then it didn’t matter whether he was innocent or guilty. His career was over.

\---

In a field full of ambitious high-achievers, Vato Falman, at forty-two, was quite comfortably a Warrant Officer. It wasn’t an officer rank, exactly, but it was good – and considering where he’d started, it wasn’t half bad. Some people gave him trouble for not having gone to the academy, or not striving harder for promotions. But as far as he was concerned, having a steady job was enough. He’d started as military police, after all.

Then, of course, Maes Hughes had shown up on one of his first Investigations cases, spotted Falman observing the crime scene, asked him a few shrewd questions and promptly kidnapped him into an actual division. The rest was history. Falman hadn’t known at the time that Hughes was all of twenty years old and fresh out of the academy, or that he hadn’t _technically_ had the authority to do that. (Luckily for them, the person running Investigations at the time had been a drunk who was happy to let Hughes do all the work.)

Now, Hughes was gone. Falman was old. And another old military man was glaring him down with an extremely prominent, _very_ noticeable sword by his side.

“Falman. What is wrong with my son?”

Falman leaned back in the chair. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not entirely sure.”

The blade made a little ‘snk’ sound as it inched out of the scabbard.

“Major, sir, I can’t tell you what I don’t know, and I doubt any of my guesses will make you any more comfortable.” He was sweating a little. Bradley had that effect on people. That, and he was a coward. There was a _reason_ he wasn’t any higher than Warrant Officer and he was quite happy with that.

“Try me.”

“It looks like a drug overdose.”

The fury on Bradley’s face was all the more terrifying for the fact that he actually put the sword _back._ “I _see._ ” Then he started to get up – and Falman panicked, realizing what he’d just inflicted on Selim.

“Sir, _wait._ ”

“What?” he almost spat.

“Sit _down._ Please.”

King just glared at him some more. For a man with one eye, he had a _shockingly_ icy stare. Falman took a deep breath, suddenly very glad that he had over a decade of normal policing experience to go with his military experience.

“I’ve dealt with addicts before. And I’ve _met_ Selim before. Only in passing, but I’ve also worked closely with Fullmetal, who talks about him at length. That was not the reaction of somebody who knew they had taken something.”

Bradley’s face changed – only a little, almost imperceptibly. “Clarify.”

“He was just as scared as you. Possibly more. My other guess – if it isn’t drugs – is something mental or medical.”

Bradley sat back down, fear and grief starting to overtake the anger on his face. “…Like schizophrenia?”

Falman was surprised at the immediate offering of what had been on his mind. “That’s very specific. Why do you say that?”

“That’s what Will has. Isn’t it?”

“I’m… not at liberty to discuss-“

“Save it, Falman. I requested his psych files a long time ago.”

Falman felt a little thud in his ribcage at that. That seemed… deeply inappropriate. “Can you _do_ that?”

“You can when you know the right people.” Bradley caught the look on Falman’s face. “Don’t look at me like that. He comes to my home, he spends all this time with my son, I’m entitled to know.”

Falman still didn’t know how he felt about that, but he also hadn’t been transferred to National Defense yet when Will’s first mental break had happened. That had come later. “So what are…you asking me?”

“If Selim’s sick, I know why.”

Falman tried – but he couldn’t keep the incredulity off his face. Bradley’s fury was directed back at him, and he held up his hands as a defense, cowardice returning. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry. I just, um… sir?”

“Speak your mind, soldier, or I’ll carve it out of you.”

_He’s worried about his son,_ Falman reminded himself, but also, _oh dear._ “Whatever Will has isn’t _contagious._ It’s not like smallpox, or –“ He just shrugged helplessly. “If it was contagious, don’t you think one of his colleagues would have noticed by now?”

Bradley shook his head, rubbing his hand over his face. “At war, when one person got shell-shock, it spread like wildfire. You had to keep it isolated, get them calmed down fast.”

Falman could see the logic in that, he supposed. And he didn’t have the courage to go against a grieving, worried father any more than he had. He just couldn’t stomach the idea of a sixteen-year-old getting blamed for getting his friend sick. Then he lowered his hands. “If he is sick – whatever it is – it’s probably treatable. I mean, it… happened pretty quickly. He might be running a fever, or even just stressed.”

“That wasn’t stress.”

“Alright, maybe not that. But let’s… let him sleep it off for now.”

Bradley still looked ready to stab Falman at the slightest provocation. But then he deflated, shoulders sinking. “He’s… all I have. He’s all I have left. If he’d broken a bone or lost an arm, I could – I know how to _deal_ with that. I even-“ He chuckled to himself. “I even have it planned out how to deal with him being, you know. A – a touch crooked.”

Falman nodded, unsure what to say. It had somehow never occurred to him that he’d get involved in a conversation like this. He was _completely_ unsuited for it.

“But this? I don’t know what to do. I can’t help him. All I can do is hope he gets better, and tells me the truth about what’s going on.” Bradley raised his eyes to Falman again, but pleading this time. “You said something about – about him having some sort of direct line to Will. Are you sure? I can’t imagine he’d be able to get that into the house without me noticing.”

“I only know what I’m told, sir.”

“Right. I’m sorry you came all this way.”

“I wasn’t lying about the other part, Major Bradley. It’s still my job to protect you.”

Bradley nodded a little. “Hm. In that case, Falman… tell me about these homunculi. Whatever you know.”

It wasn’t much, admittedly. Just that Valjean and Solaris had fought one, and come out on top. He wasn’t an alchemist, or a scientist, or whatever kind of top secret elite combat corps his commander had been in before National Defense. But he would do his best. That was the most he could offer – he just hoped it was enough.


	38. The Pretender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Institutional homophobia, classism, attempted sexual assault (it does NOT get very far), somewhat…gruesome but offscreen death, ableism/sanism, restraints/captivity (related to previous trigger; kind of hard to tag), referenced internalized aphobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is by The Foo Fighters!
> 
> Vauxhall and Canning are neighborhoods in Liverpool, and Sharypovo is – I admit, just a random town in Russia, since there is no actual intersection between the UK and Russia IRL.
> 
> The gay bar raids are based in later history – while they likely did happen this early, this is pulled more from the 50s and 60s Stonewall era. One of the really fun things about Amestris is that its technology and social influences are so scattered that I can pull from a ton of different things at once and it still, largely, makes sense. They have color photography and mechanical/medical technology advanced enough for automail, but they don’t have synthesized drugs or (thank FUCKING god) nuclear weapons.

~38~

_Send in your skeletons  
Sing as their bones go marching in again  
They need you buried deep  
The secrets that you keep are ever ready -  
\- what if I say I'm not like the others?  
What if I say I'm not just another one of your plays?_

**_-The Pretender_ **

West City had not always been West City. At one point, it had been called Vauxhall; before that, Canning, and sometime before _that,_ Sharypovo, but that was back when the borders had been very, _very_ different.

All of this was stuff Grant usually didn’t care about. But he’d been staring at the wall of the local Lieutenant’s office, bored out of his skull, for about an hour. Turned out the guy liked old maps. Usually he wasn’t any good at reading, but words on maps when you had _this_ much time to kill weren’t any trouble, and he’d been practicing. West City was easy enough, although he still didn’t know why city started with C. Or why C existed, actually. Vauxhall was a little weird, and he probably wasn’t pronouncing it right, but who cared? He’d at least gotten the hang of the ‘au’ thing. Sometimes it was ‘ow’ and sometimes it was ‘oh’ and sometimes it was ‘o’ and it was completely fucking _pointless,_ but you just kinda made a good guess and it usually worked out. And Vowx sounded particularly dumb, so it probably wasn’t that. Canning was easy, although he wanted to go on record again about C. And Sharypovo… he’d given up on, actually.

The door opened. Thank god. The fucker was finally back. Lieutenant Frank Archer sat down across from him, eyeing his cuffed wrists and the pen in his hands with skepticism. “Trying to break out?”

“Naw. Watch this.” Grant rolled the pen across the back of his fingers. “Neat, ey?”

“…Fascinating.” Archer picked up his pad. “So, the information you gave us when we picked you up with the rest. If you can verify that this is correct? Grant Haberkorn, eighteen, currently unemployed, living at the Algiers Room and Boarding House.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He really just wanted to go home. It was hard enough avoiding the Halky as it was. He’d found _one_ bar that wasn’t run by the Halky and that he could safely go to, and a gay bar at that, and of course the fucking military had raided it. Not for any particular reason either, apparently. They’d said something about them not having an alcohol license, but it came off a lot more like they liked harassing them. “Have I actually done anything wrong other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“It appears there’s a bounty on your head.”

Grant paused, pen still between his fingers. Oh, son of a bitch. He’d heard rumours that Max Heinkel had soldiers in his pocket. Just his luck. Or-

He sighed. Or, the _reason_ the bar had gotten raided was because it wasn’t under Halky protection. Stupid. He should have known that. _His_ job had been putting the fear of God into the little shop owners and black market dealers who needed persuading. It stood to reason that the more legal-ish establishments had other methods. Not everybody caved at the first sight of a big guy with a bat. “Well, that’s boss. Course I get the dirty cop.”

“I’m a soldier, not a policeman, and I suggest you learn the difference.”

“Is there one?”

“I have better training. For example, I know how not to leave bruises.”

That was a pretty fast way to shut him up. Or at least get rid of the snark. Shit. He was in _trouble._ “So what happens now? You hand me over to the Halky and get a pay day?”

“That depends. You have a decision to make here, Grant. I’m a reasonable man.”

Grant couldn’t help but flick his eyes up and down, wondering if this was going where he _thought_ it might. He hadn’t pegged the Lieutenant for that kind, but you never knew with military types. And if sucking some dick meant he stayed alive, then sure, he’d do it. He wasn’t bad-looking. A little greasy at the sides, maybe, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Archer caught Grant’s wandering eyes, and scowled. “Pull that depraved mind of yours out of the gutter. I have no interest. No, this is very simple. I let you go, and as far as I’m concerned, you weren’t at that bar. And in return, I can contact you for a favour – one favour, at any time.”

Oh, he didn’t like that. He did _not_ like that. He almost would have preferred being handed over to Heinkel. “Owin’ yer seems dirtier.”

“Interesting. It sounds like you don’t trust me.”

“I don’t.”

“Only one of us is gutter trash, Grant,” Archer replied, not even looking at him as he scrawled a number on a piece of paper. “And only one of us has anything to lose other than a life which, from the looks of you,” he eyed Grant with distaste, “isn’t worth much to begin with. So really, it’s me who has no reason to trust _you._ I suggest you take the olive branch and run with it.”

Grant resisted the urge to hit him. Even with the cuffs on, he could have managed it. He was bigger, stronger, and-

-and Archer probably had a gun, let alone all the people outside.

So he shut up, took the number, and left.

_Gutter trash._

“I’ll show you gutter trash, you twat,” he growled under his breath, crumpling the number in his fist – then he straightened it out, staring at it with a sigh. Corrupt pricks like Archer were everywhere in the West City military. He knew that good soldiers existed, theoretically, ones who _fought_ people like the Halky instead of helping them, but there weren’t enough of them.

Quietly, with no more substance than a whisper, a memory seeped in. It got stronger as he stepped out onto the smog-choked streets, jumping onto the back of the tram as it passed and pulling his scarf up over his face. All of those years, hoping somebody else would show up and save him from his father, waiting for some sort of hero to fix things. And in the end, it’d been him who shoved the fucker down the stairs.

Sometimes, you just had to do the damn thing yourself. And why not? If somebody like Frank Gobshite Archer could become an actual officer, it couldn’t be _that_ hard.

* * *

In defense of his teenage self, Jareth sighed internally as he stared at a wall that this time around, was completely bare – he hadn’t expected Archer’s career to _last._ Nor had he really expected the country to be small enough for him to actually meet Archer face to face again, even allowing for the slim possibility of him surviving the Halky.

It had been a dick move, admittedly. But he didn’t feel particularly guilty about setting up Archer to get shot by the Halky. If anybody deserved it, it was him. And somehow, the fucker had weaselled out it. Maybe that was what happened when you had more Brillo in your hair than conscience.

He drummed his fingers on the table. He would have been dealing better if he had something to fiddle with. They were letting him sweat, which was a typical tactic. 101, really. Didn’t mean it wasn’t working.

He hadn’t killed Hughes. Obviously. But –

But he’d been at home. The person he’d been with was dead now, and had probably been involved. He didn’t have an alibi. And all of this was just to distract from the horrible, roiling anger in his stomach that he wasn’t going to look at, he wasn’t going to acknowledge, because if he got angry that was just going to make everything _worse-_

Frank Archer let himself into the room, and gave Jareth a look of such cold fury that Jareth wondered if making things worse was possible. Instead, he folded his arms. Archer sat down across from him, and turned on the tape recorder.

“Where were you on the night of June fifth?”

He sighed. “I was attending Phillip Armstrong’s retirement gala.”

“According to other attendees, you left early, and alone.”

“I did. I don’t like parties much – too many people.”

Archer didn’t look furious. Instead, he looked _calculating._ That wasn’t a good sign. “Hm. And after that?”

Shit. Did he include Ling in this or not? The homunculi were classified information outside of National Defense – but Archer was Investigations. “I went home, I had a few drinks.”

“Was anybody with you?”

Jareth couldn’t help but chuckle a little. “My reputation precedes me.”

“In more ways than one,” Archer drawled in reply.

“I didn’t have a girl with me, no. I did run into a homeless kid trying to get his shoes off the wires, and I helped him get them down, but that’s the only other person I talked to that night.”

“Did you get his name?”

He snorted. “I was drunk, and he was some beggar kid. What do you think?”

“Hm.” Archer took a few more notes. This was eerily familiar. He wasn’t fond of it. “What was your relationship with Maes Hughes?”

“We were best friends.”

“How long were you two friends?”

“God, uh. Forever, really. We met when we were thirteen or something like that.”

“So before you joined the military.”

“There’s only one person I know who joined the military at that age and he’s a special case. So, yes.” Archer shot him a glare, and Jareth did his best to dial back the snark. Frank just brought it out in him. All the same, though – “You and I both know that I didn’t kill him,” he said, unable to help himself. “This is a waste of time.”

“You seem very comfortable stating that.”

“Because I didn’t kill my best friend.”

“Crimes of passion are terrible things,” Archer replied dispassionately.

“Crimes of – what?” Jareth rolled his eyes. He couldn’t _wait_ to hear this theory. No way was it going to hold up. He loved Gracia, sure, but she was one of the few women in this world that he had basically zero chemistry with. And Gracia didn’t particularly like _him._ She didn’t actively dislike him, no; she just didn’t really know what to make of him, and he didn’t expect little miss Finishing School to.

“How would you describe Maes Hughes’s marriage?”

“Sickeningly adorable and happy, to the point of nauseating,” Jareth said with a laugh. “Kind of the idyllic couple. Or, uh. Not anymore, I guess,” he added, chest twinging. “But they were good together. She made him happy, and he made her happy.”

“He never voiced discontent to you?”

“No, never. I think the most unnerved he ever got was feeling like he was being a bad husband for working late-“ _-and not wanting sex enough,_ Jareth added mentally, but it was bad enough that Hughes’s marriage was coming up with Frank Archer as it was. He didn’t want Gracia humiliated in the process.

“Hm. And what about you?”

“What _about_ me?”

“Well, you’re a single man. Promiscuous, by all reports, except…” Archer flipped to another page, “no records of treatments for syphilis, gonorrhea, the usual culprits.”

Jareth felt his face turn red, the prickle of embarrassment on the back of his neck almost painful. He fought it down. _God,_ he hated Archer. “It’s called using a condom, you self-important prick,” he snarled. “What are you trying to prove by bringing up that I don’t get enough venereal diseases for you? And I _have_ a girlfriend. Sheska Thomas.”

“Ah, yes. A recent development.”

“Still don’t know what you’re driving at, here.”

Archer closed his file. “It must have been hard for you, when your best friend got married. Six, seven years ago now, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but –“

“And a child only solidified that.”

“Are you kidding? I love Elysia.”

“I’m suggesting, _Jareth,_ ” the name dripped from his lips like it was poison, “that all of these women have been chaste dalliances and a front for something much more sinister. Tell me, did you ever make romantic overtures at Maes Hughes?”

Jareth stopped, his hand falling to the table. Something was ringing in his ears. He’d _just_ had this conversation with Havoc. Christ. Christ, Havoc. “No,” he said dully. It wasn’t entirely the truth. There’d been once, when they were barely sixteen – but Maes had said no, and it had stopped there, and it had never gone any farther.

“I see. Have you ever made romantic overtures at other men?”

“ _No._ ”

“Are you willing to swear by that in front of a court martial?”

And Jareth stopped, staring at Archer with so much hatred he thought he might throw up or kill Archer or _both._ Because Archer knew, perfectly fucking well, who he was. The moment he’d seen Jareth and Diana, the jig had been up. And if it had just been that, that would be one thing. Fine. And if Jareth had to lie about being gay to some _other_ investigator, sure. The Wilde Act was in force, but it was such an open secret in the military that half the damn forces were queer that nobody took it that seriously.

But Archer had arrested him ten years ago in a gay bar. Archer didn’t just know Jareth was gay, he knew everything about him that he’d hidden. He knew how to prove it. He knew how to make it hurt. And Archer had a _grudge._

Jareth leaned forward and turned off the tape recorder. “This isn’t just your grudge. It can’t be. I know you want to see me go down, but you can’t possibly hate me this much.” It was risky, but there was no way he could pull off still denying that he was Grant Haberkorn. He hadn’t changed _that_ much.

“That’s true. As much as I hold it against you, what you pulled was pretty impressive. No, I may be enjoying it, but this is about more than just our checkered past.”

“What is this about, Frank?”

“Call me Frank again and I’ll split your skull and call it self-defense.”

“I don’t put that past you, unfortunately,” Jareth sighed.

Archer’s eyes glittered. “Do you remember that old saying that Maximilian loved to use?”

“There were a number. You’ll have to be more specific.”

“You put one of us in the hospital, we’ll put one of yours in the morgue.” Archer picked up his papers, tapping them against the table and picking up the tape recorder. “So what happens when you put one of _theirs_ in the morgue?”

Lust. This was about Lust.

Their suspicions had been right, about Dr. Holland. Wherever this cult was based, they had the military’s protection and support. Which meant –

He was _fucked._

After Archer left, Jareth buried his face in his hands. Thank god there was no mirror or anything in here. He knew he wasn’t being watched.

_Shit._

For all that he’d talked to Havoc about being careful, he wasn’t the most cautious. He didn’t go around with a sign on his head, no, but once you got to a certain rank, you sort of stopped caring. Besides, out in the real world, it was one thing. Here, _everybody_ was queer. The number of straight men in their unit was frankly a statistical miracle. Maria Ross was – he was fairly certain from the way she’d slapped him, anyway – a lesbian; Davidson’s owlish gazing over Will was obvious from a planet away, and for all of his muscles, Sander spent most of his off-time at one of Central’s classier gay bars. What it was actually _like,_ Jareth didn’t know – the classy ones gave him migraines.

Except –

Except he had committed the grave mistake of being queer, _and_ pissing off powerful people. That was the trick.

Idiot.

And now everybody in his life was going to get dragged into it too.

* * *

The truck stopped for the second night at a small outpost at the edge of the Powell Lake; Will only knew that much because he saw the signpost before the guards dragged him into the inn. The first night, they’d just left him in the truck and camped out. That had been uncomfortable enough; the inn, however, had _people._ And if he was doing the math right, they were distressingly close to Dublith.

It didn’t help that one of the guards had had the bright idea to _gag_ him. It wasn’t anything fancy – a bar of metal, that was all – but it made him look so much worse than he needed to. They entered the inn, and he immediately dropped his shoulders in frustration.

The _inn_ was empty. The innkeeper, however, had a small child at her legs, and was staring at the soldiers with obvious fear. No, he amended, trying not to feel like he wanted to wither up and die. She was looking at _him._

“Ma’am, we need to commandeer your lodgings for the night. We’re transporting a dangerous lunatic.”

_Luna-_ For christ’s sake. The little boy looked terrified. Will worked his teeth against the gag, and managed to spit it out. “Would you please stop scaring the kid? I-“

The soldier whacked him in the stomach, and he doubled over, winded. Motherfucker.

“Um – upstairs.”

The gag got shoved back into Will’s mouth, but he caught a glimpse of the woman’s face as he passed. She still looked scared, but it had changed a bit. Point for impressions, he supposed.

Once they’d got to the top of the stairs, the soldier who had hit him slammed him against the wall. “Don’t counteract me in front of civilians again.”

“Last time I checked, I outranked you, Corporal-“

“Not anymore.”

“Is it official?” Will snarled. “Because I don’t think you’ve got the power to do that. _Or_ the balls,” he added with a smirk.

“You’re one to talk,” the soldier replied. And before Will could parse exactly what he meant, the soldier’s hand was running over his exposed stomach, pushing him harder against the wall –

Will closed his eyes, forcing himself not to react, not to do anything, _anything would just make it worse,_ and the hand was moving downwards –

There was a sudden yelp, and the hand moved away. He opened his eyes. The corporal was shaking, looking not at Will but the slim fingers on both of his shoulders. Kimbley stood behind him, looking surprisingly serene.

“Did you know, Corporal, what the human body is made of? It’s such an intricate thing. All of those chemicals and molecules, and when you boil it down to its basics, well… Will, why don’t you help this poor gentleman?”

_Motherfucker._ “Water, 35 liters, Carbon, 20 kilograms, Ammonia, 4 liters, Lime, 1.5 kilograms, Phosphorus, seven- no, eight hundred grams, salt, two hundred and fifty grams, saltpeter, one hundred grams, sulfur, eighty grams, fluorine, seven and a half grams, iron, five grams, silicon, three grams, and fifteen other trace elements including cobalt, zinc, and iodine.”

“My, my, what an excellent memory you have. Now, Will, do you happen to know – for this gentleman’s benefit, how many of those are also in gunpowder?”

“Carbon as in charcoal, saltpeter and sulfur,” Will recited, feeling numb. Elements. This was easy. This was normal ground. Maybe.

“Corporal, do you know how easy it is for a skilled alchemist to rearrange, perhaps rebalance, the ratio of certain elements in the human body and compress them?”

The corporal was openly sweating now. Will suddenly started to feel sick.

“Of course,” Kimbley lifted both of his hands from the Corporal’s shoulders, and Will glanced at the two halves of the transmutation circles tattooed on his palms – neither complete, he noticed, not real circles unless they were used together – “a skilled, _ethical_ alchemist wouldn’t do so. It’s simply _possible._ So I suggest you go smoke a cigarette and reconsider your actions tonight, hm?”

The Corporal nodded in fear, and Kimbley handed him a cigarette and lighter, watching him run out of the door with barely-concealed glee. The other soldiers shrank back from him, and Will stared at him.

“You sick bastard.”

Kimbley just grinned, and then put up his fingers and counted, mouthing silently, _Five…four…three…two…one…_

Boom.

The other soldiers practically squeaked in horror, falling into line and waiting for Kimbley’s next words. He just sighed at them. “The next of you to think that ‘declared incompetent’ means ‘free use’ will get the slow motion version. Now shoo.”

Will watched them go, feeling a little dizzy.

“You don’t have to pretend you didn’t laugh, by the way. I saw that smile.”

“Fuck off.” It _had_ been a little funny, but the part of him that found the fucker blowing up funny was the same part of him that had thought taking cocaine before a military mission was a good idea, so he wasn’t inclined to give it much free reign. But… “You’re dragging me back to Central in chains, and you stop one of your own men from- that?”

Kimbley opened one of the room doors for Will, being almost chivalrous. “Sexual violence is one of those things I have very little patience for. Which surprises some people, and I’m not beyond turning a blind eye when I don’t have the time or energy. That said,” he smiled, and it struck Will once again as being almost predatory, and he closed the door behind him, “I know who you belong to.”

Will narrowed his eyes into a glare. “I don’t belong to anybody.”

“I’m sure you think so. But Jareth is very possessive of his things.”

There was a little _thud_ in Will’s chest at that. He sat down on one of the two twin beds, realizing with an annoyed but unsurprised sigh that he and Kimbley were sharing the room. Being a prisoner was wearing thin very, very quickly. “You mean Lieutenant Valjean?”

“Oh, so formal.” Then Kimbley examined Will’s face. “I see he didn’t talk about me much.”

“Can’t imagine why not,” Will retorted.

Kimbley clutched a hand to his chest in mock distress. It was annoying, how almost everything Kimbley said and did felt like mockery. All he wanted to do was curl up on the bed and ignore Kimbley, see if he could sleep, get this awful journey over with faster.

Except the end of the journey wouldn’t be any better. The end of the journey was a horrible morass of uncertainty that – worst case scenario that wasn’t as unlikely as he hoped, _prayed_ it was – meant being locked up in a hospital. For a while. Not forever. He hoped. They’d just… keep him there until he was eighteen, until he got better, whichever came first. He was pulling a lot of this out of his ass, but it was all he had.

He glanced up at Kimbley, who seemed to think they were the same, somehow. They weren’t – Will knew that much – but if he believed they were, maybe that was something he could use. He’d been in jail for something. Clearly his loyalty to Amestris was patchy at best. And he _knew_ Jareth, apparently.

“How, um… how do you and Jareth know each other?” Damn it. He’d turned bright red right at the end, because he had a pretty good idea from the piercing in one of Kimbley’s ears and Jareth’s… well, everything. _Jareth is very possessive of his things._ There might have been a straight way to interpret that, but Will didn’t know it.

“Somebody’s curious.”

“I’m _bored,_ mostly. Shockingly, your meathead soldiers aren’t wonderful company.”

Kimbley snickered a little. “I’ll have you know, they weren’t my choice. He and I were on the same Black Ops team in Ishval. Which I suspect I’m not supposed to talk about, but it’s old history by now.”

Black Ops. The same thing the Colonel had talked about. “I, uh – Solaris talked about that.”

“Oh, the lovely Diana. I’d say I miss her, but I fear she’d catch wind and murder me in my bed.” At Will’s expression, he added, “She never liked me, and that was _before_ everything ended sourly.”

Again, Will wasn’t particularly shocked. For all of Diana’s flaws, he couldn’t imagine her and the smooth-talking sadist in front of him getting along.

“You are very eager to find out more about Jareth, aren’t you?”

Will jolted back to reality. “Lieutenant Valjean and I are friends,” he replied, just a little too woodenly.

Kimbley laughed, then moved over to sit next to Will on the bed, brushing some of his hair off of his shoulder. “You _are_ a beautiful little thing, too. I imagine his eyes have wandered plenty, even if his hands haven’t-“ He put a finger to Will’s earlobe, and Will bared his teeth at him. “Don’t worry, don’t worry, little one. I have no intentions on you. Like I said, I know perfectly well you belong to Jareth.”

“Not in a million years. I don’t belong to anybody.” And yet, part of him was fixating on the words anyway – not of belonging to Jareth, but very simply that Kimbley had called him _beautiful._ It was so stupid. It was awful. The worst person in the world, and he was clinging to the fact that Kimbley thought he was beautiful.

“Then perhaps I shouldn’t protect you so strongly. I’m sure you can take care of yourself, hm?”

Will scowled at that. He couldn’t very well _refuse_ the protection. And then he felt it – a stirring somewhere in his consciousness. Selim. Selim was awake.

_Don’t make things worse. Play along. Don’t get angry._ But damn, all he could think about was how this, _this_ was the person responsible for ripping Minna Bradley out of the world. This was why. Him. “For somebody who detests sexual violence,” Will said, trying to keep his voice even, “you’re sitting awfully close to me.”

“This isn’t sexual violence. It’s flirting.”

Will couldn’t help it – he _laughed._ The sheer brass of it was, he had to admit, absolutely breathtaking. “Do you blow up unwanted suitors for everybody you court? Or just the one in handcuffs?”

“Not everybody. I reserve it for special occasions.”

“Fuck _off._ ”

Kimbley held up his hands, keeping them away from Will. He didn’t, however, uncuff Will to let him sleep. That would have been nice; instead Will had to wrestle the cuffs behind himself and get himself down into a position that was almost comfortable. He kept his back to the wall, watching Kimbley crawl under the covers. If anybody came in, he’d know.

_…Will? Are you okay?_

 _Worry about yourself, Selim. It’s fine._ Then, unable to hide the guilt, knowing Selim could feel it anyway, _I’m sorry. I really didn’t think it’d hit you. It usually doesn’t._

_Do you… make a habit of taking drugs?_

He chewed on his lip. He could see Selim’s room on top of this one – much more cheerful, much more familiar. _Sometimes? I’m not an addict, if that’s what you’re worried about. It just – helps, sometimes. Not a lot does._

_You should stop._

_Well, I’m definitely going to_ now. _You didn’t sign up for that._

Selim’s spikes softened into something more comfortable. _It’s okay. I – I helped, right?_

 _You did. You kept me – not lucid, exactly, but lucid enough._ Will closed his eyes, and focused. He hadn’t done this part of it on purpose before. It felt weird, like he was dreaming. Selim was… dizzy. A little hurt, physically – from falling earlier, it looked like. He was so bad at identifying his own emotions, as weird and eccentric as they were. Someone else’s was just as hard, especially because Selim’s… _felt_ different. What was this one? He was – worried. Anxious? Chewing on an idea like a dog on a bone. It wasn’t like Will’s own anxiety, which felt jagged and _constant,_ like razor-nails on his skin. This was more specific, even though it underlay so much.

 _I’m not good enough. And I have to be the best. If I’m not, then something terrible will happen._ Whatever the something was, he didn’t seem to know-

“What are you doing?” No vague thoughts here – Selim had mumbled it out loud to the silent room.

Will started back, realizing with a flush of embarrassment that he’d been practically rifling through Selim’s mind. _Sorry. I, um – Sorry. I won’t do it again._

“I don’t…” Selim was still out of it, the crash from the drugs still affecting him now. It wasn’t just the drugs, to be fair. Mania was worse than any drug, especially secondhand. _I didn’t-_ Even mentally, Selim was tripping over his words, embarrassed, almost flinching away.

Will felt something twinge in his chest, and buried his face in the pillow. How was it that he was so scared, stuck in a situation he didn’t have a way out of, and he still had room to worry about Selim, to want to be there with _him,_ to make him feel better?

Selim laughed, possibly-unconsciously turning on the bed to wrap his arms around one of his extra pillows. “I dunno. Maybe you’re dumb or something.”

Usually, Will would have had some sort of snappy comeback. Instead, he smiled into the pillow. _Maybe._

He felt a flush of heat across his face that wasn’t _quite_ there, because it wasn’t his face. Worth it.

The anxiety was still there, and almost worse, so he decided to go ahead and ask. _Do you feel like that all the time? I’m not – I mean, you’re in my head all the time. You know._

Selim hesitated. _I- Kind of. It feels silly. I’m not an anxious person. It’s just kind of there._ He sighed, holding the pillow a little more tightly. _I came home from Lyon Hall because I wasn’t really – I mean, I made friends. I was happy, sort of, but I wasn’t._

_I thought you were just done._

_I had another two years, if I’d stayed. And Dad wasn’t mad or anything. I got a decent education. But…_

Something strange happened, and Will leaned into it, no longer questioning the connection between them as anything more than a weird, wonderful magic. Izumi wasn’t _wrong –_ it was a problem, sure – but right now, it was the company he needed. He was there, in Lyon Hall, and people were talking to him, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying to him. All he was thinking was how _stupid_ they were. Or, worse, that they were alright, maybe, but he was better. He’d designed automail at _eleven,_ he didn’t need to court their attention. He didn’t need their praise, except –

-except, then, he wasn’t getting it, and it felt like he was drowning, there was water in his lungs (no water, he was fine) and this was fine, he just had to impress them, that was all, impress them and they would praise him again-

 _I didn’t lose any friends, except for that one jerk who spread a rumour about being a spastic,_ Selim said, his face buried into the pillow. _It was all in my head, and I knew it, but I couldn’t deal with it. That’s why I came home._

Will wasn’t sure what to say. He knew, generally, when Selim was unhappy, or restless – but Selim’s emotions were so muted in comparison, and it was only recently that the details had started to come through with any clarity. That, and –

-and, he realized with an exhale, there was every chance that he’d caught plenty of this and just thought they were his own thoughts.

Selim’s heart jumped, and Will felt it, and it wasn’t like Selim hadn’t _known_ this, but there was knowing a thing and there was having it said – well, maybe not out _loud._ But where it mattered.

_It’s wild, isn’t it? How many people think that being an arrogant jerk is something that people do because they’re super confident and sure of themselves._

_Are you calling me an arrogant jerk?_ Selim huffed slightly.

_Eh, sometimes._

Selim deflated slightly – then he giggled into the pillow, tension suddenly releasing. _I didn’t think that would help._

_Hey, from the pot to the kettle-_

Selim just giggled some more. _Stop making me laugh, Dad’s going to get suspicious._

_….Shit, you gotta tell him something, huh?_

_Yeah. I – I might just tell him. If he believes me._

_You sure? I mean –_ Will pulled a face. _Your dad is not the most, uh, flexible person in the world._

Selim sighed, then held his hand up to the light, curling it into a fist then flexing it again. _I don’t know what else would work. And, I mean… there’s a few things I have to talk to him about._

Will sighed. _Well, do it in the morning, will ya? I have to deal with weaselface over here all day tomorrow as well, and I’d like to do it on a full night’s sleep._

_He does look like a weasel, doesn’t he?_

Selim was going to be awake for a while longer, Will knew. He’d spent most of the last two days unconscious. But at least he was at enough peace for the moment that Will could fall into at least light sleep. He was going to need it.


	39. Ready To Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: mild nsfw (kind of lime territory to use old words), body horror/surreality, alcohol, homophobia, misogyny, rape threat, transmisogyny, manipulation, racism/genocide…. Yeah, this is a tough one, yall. It’s not really gonna get better until the end of Dog of the Empire, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is by Rise Against!
> 
> And oh boy I have been LOOKING FORWARD to this reveal. It happens in stages, technically, but godddd.

~39~

_I took one last look from the heights that I once loved  
and then I ran like hell  
I count the times that I’ve been sorry (I know, I know)  
Now my compassion slowly drowns (I know I know)  
Now I’m standing on the rooftop ready to fall  
I think I’m at the edge now but I could be wrong_

_- **Ready To Fall**_

He’s handcuffed. Metal, but it feels good, not being able to move, his control given up, and the more he struggles, the tighter it gets up –

“Of course you like this, you fucking whore.”

He’s not sure who’s talking to him, but their voice is low, gravelly, breath warm on his ear as they hold him down onto the floor. He thinks, maybe, he knows – but he’s never been this cruel to him, _never,_ and Will doesn’t want to be enjoying it this much because it says things about him that he doesn’t want to know.

He’s naked. It hits him suddenly, and then _of course I’m naked, I knew that,_ and the man behind him isn’t, he can feel the rasp of leather and fiber against him. And when the man’s hand grips his chin from behind him, pulls him upright and drags a hand down his front, he leans into it. It’s like he’s being appreciated, shown off.

“Tell me what you want,” the man whispers. It’s Jareth – of course it’s Jareth, and Will can’t feel ashamed about that, not here, not dreaming (is he dreaming?).

“I don’t… I don’t know what I want,” he replies, his voice coming from far away. He never knows what he wants. That’s the problem. He drifts, carelessly, helplessly, from one thing to another. He’s afraid to want things.

“Of course you do.” It’s Selim, now, and suddenly Will feels even _more_ vulnerable, pulled back into his lap, feeling so open it _hurts._ He is open. His rib cage is getting pulled apart, and it doesn’t even hurt that much, not enough for his whole body to stop throbbing, not enough for him to stop bucking against the hand between his legs. ( _filthy)_

Kimbley is in front of him, smirk on his face. And Will can’t stop, he doesn’t _want_ to stop, he hates him, he hates this, he doesn’t – (are you just crushing on everybody who gives you attention now) (it’s not a crush it’s not even anything real I don’t want him to be here I didn’t invite him here) It’s his hands pulling his ribs apart, Selim holding him in place. “Don’t worry,” Kimbley croons. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

He’s lying, of course. But there’s no real pain in dreams (if it hurts, does that mean I’m not dreaming) and so when he reaches in and closes long, blood-stained fingers around Will’s heart, it doesn’t hurt. And when he leans in and kisses him, that doesn’t hurt either. And it doesn’t hurt when Kimbley yanks his heart out of his chest, leaves the veins and arteries hanging out of him –

-not until Selim whispers, “There. That’s what you wanted, right?”

* * *

His dreams, Will thought in the muddled horror as he startled awake, had been getting stranger. Stranger, and worse, and increasingly surreal.

“Nightmares?”

He glanced over at Kimbley, then away with a scoff. The older man had clearly decided to take a shower – and, apparently, continue his lack of boundaries. He was shirtless, wet hair dripping down his back. At least he had trousers on. “No. None of your business.”

Kimbley just gave him a curious look, then smiled. “We’re heading out in five minutes.” The fucking smile. Like he had a _choice._

Great. Another full day of travel, and now he had to try get the image out of his head of Kimbley with his heart in his hands. He hated this. It was like he’d turned sixteen and his idle, blossoming attractions had decided to go into overdrive. Or maybe his libido was overcompensating for the amount of stress he was under.

_Yeah, because the thing I need most while being held captive is a boner over somebody I’m planning to kill at the soonest opportunity. Lovely._

Did he really mean that? He hadn’t thought too much about what he was going to do to Kimbley, given an actual chance. But it sort of answered itself, didn’t it? He’d _been_ paying the ‘appropriate’ price, in jail. And then the military had hauled him back out and given him back his rank like nothing had happened.

Will squeezed a hand into a fist behind his back, then released it, feeling a twinge in his wrists as he restored circulation to his fingers. _Keep your head._ It only got harder when the soldiers hauled him outside and he noticed the little star-shaped scorch mark on the ground outside, complete with dark stain on the wall. That poor inn

It certainly put a damper on things when he stepped outside and saw the little star-shaped scorch mark on the ground outside, complete with bloody stain on the wall. The poor innkeeper. With his luck, it would get pinned on _him,_ too. Almost involuntarily, the thought came that Alex would know how to talk to the innkeeper and her kid –

-and he closed his eyes, sitting down in the back of the truck without any complaint.

Alex was going to think he’d killed those soldiers. This one, too. He didn’t have any reason to think otherwise, did he?

_You tried to get better. Didn’t you? And you had a plan. You had a plan to improve, and show him you’d improved, and –_

And that had done jack shit.

Will opened his eyes just enough to watch Kimbley through the haze of his golden eyelashes. New plan. He’d spend the rest of the car ride to Central planning how, _exactly,_ he’d kill Kimbley once he got the chance. At this point, if he was going to get called a violent lunatic, it didn’t really matter.

* * *

She hadn’t slept. That was fine. She had everything, every piece of information she could find, _everything_ spread out in front of her. Brigadier-General – posthumously promoted – Maes Hughes had been shot in a phone booth outside the 2nd Library Branch. The gun used had been a standard-issue Browning M1900, serial number registered to Maes Hughes. The bastard had shot him with his own gun. The body had been left where it was. Two shots; one to the liver, one to the heart. One phone call, to Jareth Valjean. Theoretically completed, said the operator. Hung up after only a few words exchanged – on Valjean’s side. Hughes had bled out within minutes, most likely. He’d died around four thirty in the morning, before the sun had even started to rise.

Diana read it over and over again, and tried to make the pieces fit. Somebody had wanted Maes dead. Wanted it enough for a professional hit, basically. The Halky? It would make sense with Archer’s arrival, and the cleanness of the hit. Except Maes wasn’t the one who had stolen from them. He’d stayed well out of their way, and even made a clean, professional break of his minor association with them. The mob didn’t kill people unless there had been grievous insult. Even by association, he would have gotten a threat at worst.

She’d looked at all of this before, and there wasn’t any _more_ information. That was the problem. Professional hits like this were almost impossible to track. Even if they tracked something from Maes’s body to an actual person, the person in question wouldn’t be traceable to anybody else – if they even found them alive. And that was all without the fact that somebody _else_ was going down for it. Jareth. They were trying to send Jareth down for it.

Diana poured herself a finger of whiskey, then stared at it, trying to tell herself that she didn’t need it. It wasn’t going to help. She needed a clear head. She needed to have her shit together. She needed –

She grabbed the crystal glass and threw it at the wall in fury, the cup splintering into a shower of fragments and the whiskey splashing onto the plaster, dripping slowly onto the carpet.

“Have I come at a bad time?”

Diana took a deep breath, trying to push away the urge not to murder Mustang where he stood. She turned, flipping her hair back over her shoulder but not bothering with a smile. “Mustang.” No sir or Fuhrer.

Mustang let herself the rest of the way into her office, and just smiled at her. “You seem stressed.”

“I am.”

“I heard about your subordinate’s arrest. Deeply unfortunate, really. But you never know these days, really. People hide the darkest secrets-“

“He didn’t do it, Mustang.”

Mustang glanced up at her, looking completely unsurprised and almost bored. “Oh?” He closed the door behind him.

“Hughes was our best friend. And Archer is trying to use the Wilde Act on him, which is absolutely _despicable._ ”

“Ah, yes, the Wilde Act.” Mustang nodded thoughtfully. “Of course, if young Valjean is innocent, it won’t be an issue. I’ll be sure that it’s a fair trial.”

“He _is_ innocent. Of murdering Maes Hughes. That’s what matters.”

“Well, if the Wilde Act is being invoked, clearly there’s some doubt. And Archer seems to think it’s relevant to motive.”

Diana scoffed, unable to help herself. “Cut the _shit,_ Mustang. The Wilde Act is outdated garbage. Archer’s spinning a story in hopes that it’ll stick because he can’t find the real murderer. He knows that people will buy into the idea of the jealous homosexual murdering the man who rejected him, and – and how on _earth_ are you fine with this?”

Mustang just shook his head. “Diana, Diana, _Diana._ You’re so idealistic. We can’t simply do away with laws we don’t like when they’re inconvenient.”

“Half of your armed forces are queers,” she shot at him. “How’s that for idealistic?”

“Respect me enough not to use that kind of vile language-“

“ _Vile language?_ ” She laughed, feeling like she was going to shake into pieces. “We _exist!_ Our _existence_ isn’t vile! And if you really thought it was, then it wouldn’t take this made-up farce of a case for you to start caring!”

Mustang made his slow way across the office. Diana glared at him, standing steady, refusing to let him terrify her into submission the way he had before. He didn’t have Hawkeye with him this time. He didn’t even have a weapon – and she _always_ had her gloves. She wasn’t going to assassinate the Fuhrer. She wasn’t that stupid. But… she was tempted. God, she’d _liked_ him, almost.

“You’re almost there, Diana,” he said, closing the space between them to barely a foot. He was shorter than her, but that barely seemed to matter now – not when he was exuding such _menace._

“Valjean hasn’t done a damn thing to you. And if you have some grudge against homosexuality, this is an _odd_ time for it to surf…”

Mustang’s mouth crooked into a humorless smile.

“Surface,” Diana finished at hardly a whisper.

“There you are. I was wondering if you were going to put it together on your own. Actually,” he said conversationally, “I thought you might have already. You keep dragging your feet on hunting down the Beast. With your history, I thought you’d be eager.”

“Whatever appetite I had for killing Ishvalans is _long_ gone, sir,” she spat, hating how it sounded in her mouth.

“And yet you went ahead and killed one of _my_ subordinates. Bad manners, really.” He gave her a cold look. “Did you really think you could get away with that?”

She’d thought – she’d _hoped_ – The homunculi had clearly had protection within the military. But –

The door. Mustang was between her and the door. If she ran for it, he’d stop her, but she had the height and weight advantage. Maybe she’d surprise him. Maybe-

_Do it,_ she told herself.

She threw herself towards the door, but Mustang grabbed her around the middle and slammed her against the wall, his gloved hand over her mouth. The other hand dug _something_ sharp into her abdomen, finding one of the half-healed cuts from Lust and teasing at it where her uniform jacket lifted.

“Nice try,” he whispered. “But I’m not letting you go that easily. I’m short on alchemists, Diana. And I _need_ you.”

She bit at the fingers smothering her, but there was no give to the hand across her lips – it was like biting metal. Automail? Was that what he was hiding under those gloves? But she’d held his hands for a dance before, she would have felt or noticed something, wouldn’t she?

“And now look,” he sighed, pulling his other hand away from her abdomen, and she caught a glimpse of something dark-blue that vanished before she could get a good look at it. His glove was in shreds, but it was normal flesh underneath. “I’ve destroyed a perfectly good glove.” He wasn’t holding a dagger or anything that she could see, but he put the glove to his mouth and pulled the torn, useless fabric away.

Underneath the glove was a perfectly ordinary hand, ordinary flesh, ordinary fingers. But on the back of his hand, in the same blood-red as it had been on Lust, was a tattoo of an ourobouros.

Mustang flexed his hand, tendons rippling underneath the tattoo. “I suppose by now,” he said, with a small smile and his eyes fixed on hers, “you can more wholly appreciate my situation.”

_His_ situation. Of course. And she should have seen it a long time ago. Perhaps she had simply wanted to believe that he was a good man, just misled by well-meant intentions or led astray by power. Perhaps it had simply been something she’d accepted with everybody else in the country – that Roy Mustang was almost inhumanly youthful, that he would show his age eventually, that it was just _one of those things –_ and she’d simply failed to adjust that acceptance with new information.

“Please don’t take this as an insult. I _do_ enjoy your company, all else aside,” Mustang said with a little sigh. “But you just keep doing the most inconvenient things. I ask you to take care of the Beast, even tell you how to do it, and you kill one of my siblings instead. I encourage you to show off your alchemy in front of a crowd, and you’re mad at me for it. I send an easy spy ring bust your way and you don’t just let her escape, you bravely and nobly try to save her life. I invite you to a gala and not only do you bring the _last_ woman in the world I want to see,” he shuddered a little dramatically at that one, “but you even let yourself get shown up by a teenage boy in a dress.”

Diana managed to tear her face away from his hand. “Don’t you _dare-_ “

“Oh, settle _down._ He cuts a striking figure, but I needed _you_ to be the center of attention. Even when I wasn’t there. I have been setting you up for success, you clueless airhead, and you refuse to take it at every opportunity.”

“ _Success?”_ Diana echoed hollowly.

Mustang grabbed her chin with what could only be described as a leer. “I _do_ need a successor at some point, you know. Although I’ll settle for a puppet, if that’s what it takes. Or a wife.”

“You son of a _bitch_.”

“I’ll spare you and not tell my mother you said that.”

Diana clenched her jaw so hard it hurt, frustrated tears gathering in her eyes. More than ten years in the military, things she’d never be able to scrub from her hands or her memory, and-

She thought, horribly, she might faint. Not until he left. She refused. She _refused._ She took a deep breath, tried to process the new information, but it wouldn’t budge. She kept getting stuck on the tattoo on his hand, and insisting to herself because it meant – it meant –

_Red Stones are made with human lives._

She’d kept reading that over and over in Will’s letter, with a dull, horrible kind of shock. Not really shock. She’d… almost known. Because of course they were. No monstrosity or horror that came out of the Ishvalan War could horrify her anymore. So she’d read it over and over again, and accepted it, and put it in the part of her heart that she had hollowed out and used to lock away all of the hurt and the sorrow. No one person could feel all of that pain and survive it. So she didn’t.

_Red Stones are made with human lives._

And the creature in front of her _wasn’t_ human. One of her questions to Lust sprang to mind. One she hadn’t worried about much.

_You don’t bleed. What is that?_

_Red Stones, or Red Water. Elixir. Whatever you’d like to call it. You can’t use it, though – good luck trying._

There was a scream building in her throat, and she wanted to let it out, she wanted to tear his eyes out, but she couldn’t _do_ anything. She was frozen in place, not just because of him pinning her – he was barely restraining her now, and besides, what would she do, now? She couldn’t kill him. She still didn’t know why Ranfan’s blood had worked.

“What do you want from me?” she asked, and her voice trembled. _No, please._ All she had was the myth of being strong in front of him. If she broke down, she’d have nothing left.

“Finally, some productive conversation.” Mustang rubbed his thumb across her cheek. “You’re an idealistic girl. You want things to change, right? You’ve got lots of big ideas in that head of yours.”

She nodded, staying silent.

“I’m afraid that lieutenant of yours is doomed. I can’t do much for him at this point, and _somebody_ has to be punished for Lust’s death. This way, see, we kill two birds with one stone – the lovely Gracia gets closure, and my master gets revenge for the death of one of her children.”

Diana wanted to beg, but she knew it wouldn’t work, even if she could shame herself enough for it. “A-And Will?”

“I see you caught on,” Mustang said, almost kindly. “That depends on him, sweetheart. But if you cooperate, that will help a lot. Forcett… did not go well. He needs some treatment, one way or another. But the form that takes – well, _you_ can decide that. You know what’s best for him, after all.”

She didn’t believe that for a second. It seemed like every decision she’d made for Will so far had been the wrong one. But there was nothing else _to_ do, was there? “You’re putting him in the asylum.”

“At least for a while. Usually, soldiers who turn on their own are executed-“

Her breath caught in her throat. “ _What?_ ”

He clicked his tongue. “It’s unfortunately to be expected with his type, although I was hoping it wouldn’t go so badly. Twenty men dead, it seems.”

_He wouldn’t,_ Diana insisted. Then – _He has before._ Claiming that Will wasn’t capable of murder was just as delusional as anything Will had claimed during his breakdowns. “He’s sixteen, and he’s sick. Don’t – don’t execute him.”

“See? This is exactly why I need your vision. So many people would judge him differently, you know.”

She nodded miserably. He’d never forgive her, but it was this or let him die – and god, maybe he _did_ need treatment. It had to be better than forcing him onto the front lines again. “And – and we can talk about the Wilde Act. Right?”

“Let’s see Valjean’s trial out. But yes, I’m actually deeply interested in repealing it. Like you said, Diana,” and Mustang smiled, baring his teeth and fixing his sloe-black eyes on hers, “half our forces are affected by it. Why not change with the times?”

Diana nodded again. “…I need you to leave.”

“Why, Diana, I-“

“Call me an equal and a visionary all you like. But right now,” she really was going to start crying, “I need you to leave.”

He paused for a while, then nodded, almost respectfully. “That’s very fair. You’ve processed a lot today.” He stepped back, and Diana moved to sit down – then he held out his hand. “Those files, please.”

She froze. “What?”

“You’re not smarter than me, Diana. You think that if you can find Hughes’s murderer before the trial’s up, you can save your precious lieutenant. Give me those files.”

Wordlessly, Diana gathered up the files and handed them to him. “Was it you?” she asked, words clipped.

He blinked in surprise, then laughed. “I doubt you’ll believe me, but I actually wasn’t involved at all. No, I’m simply taking advantage of a convenient situation.”

“A convenient situation. Wonderful.”

“And one last thing, Diana.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. Then he whispered, “If you even think about telling anybody about our conversation here today, little William Elric will be dead before the sun rises. And you have my word that he _won’t_ die a virgin.”

Diana threw a fist at Mustang’s face, but he blocked it with one hand, seemingly unperturbed. “Settle that temper of yours. I think the choice is pretty clear, don’t you?”

“Crystal,” she practically spat.

“Have a good day, Colonel.” He let himself out, and the door clicked shut behind him. It sounded, to her, like a round being loaded into a gun.

Diana stared at the door, trying to work up the courage to move, to sit down, to do _anything._ Then she lowered herself down to the floor, ignoring the chair, and bit down on the inside of her hand, trying to suppress the sob rising in her throat. She couldn’t do this alone. She couldn’t. And she had to. So much for ‘Empress Diana’.

Only a few days ago, she’d let herself admit to Jareth how much it terrified her to be without him – how much his death frightened her. And now she was staring at it, knowing it was inevitable, that she couldn’t stop it.

_You can still fight it. You can still save him._

At what cost? They’d both die, and take Will with them.

Alex. Where was Alex? Was there any chance of reaching him? She didn’t know where to start, but increasingly, she was convinced that he really _had_ ended up in the hands of the homunculi. No doubt under false pretenses; but between what Dr. Holland had said to Will, and-

In all of his terrible threats, Mustang had let something slip that said more than he had probably planned on. _I’m short on alchemists, and I need you._ Unless he was trying to bait her –

_No, no, no._ She couldn’t think that way. She would drive herself crazy.

The Beast was unreachable. Alex was unreachable. Hughes was dead. Havoc was just as caught as her. Falman – she couldn’t risk that. Falman was the only person keeping Selim and Bradley out of trouble at the moment, and the official record was that Falman was on holiday. If she contacted Ayi, she was putting all of them at risk as well.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered into the empty office. She’d half-crawled under the desk, like a kid, and she felt like one too. She wanted her mother, but she knew that her mother wouldn’t have been any use either. Maybe she just wanted the idea of a mother… or a father.

Diana put her head on her knees, still quietly crying, and thought about Hohenheim. Not the versions of him she’d heard about from other people, or the version of him that she’d had to build from the empty gaps that Will and Alex had notably _not_ talked about. The man who’d give her an alchemy book and sat with her in the cold for a little while, and told her that if she wanted to be an alchemist, she could be one. Who had given her a bit of taffy from his coat pocket, and listened to her complain about her mother locking her out again, and let her sing _Bicycle Built For Two_ and clapped when she was done even though she’d forgotten some of the lyrics.

Maybe that was all it took to be a parent, sometimes. Being in the right place at the right time, and happening to stumble onto the right thing to say.

* * *

There were two Black Ops teams, but Jareth had never actually met the other one until now. He’d suspected for a while that their orders were crossing; somebody wasn’t doing due diligence and giving them conflicting instructions. So when the blonde woman sprung at him from the dark corner of the bombed-out house, he didn’t swing back at her as hard as he would have otherwise. Instead, he raised his arms and blocked her dagger strikes; and when he lowered his arms, the look of confusion was worth it before he swept her legs out from under her and planted a foot on her sternum.

“Shrike, Amestrian Special Forces,” he said before she did anything else. “Also, they’re plated.”

“I _figured,_ ” she sighed. “On both counts.”

“Name and rank?”

“Fang, Amestrian Special Forces. Martel,” she added, and he managed not to chuckle. She wasn’t the only one who hated the code names. They were mostly for radio use, but training insisted that you identified yourself with them before you used your actual name. They didn’t even have official ranks.

Jareth moved his foot off her chest and offered a hand down. She eyed it, then took it with a groan. “I’m Jareth. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Could say the same thing.”

She gave him a wary look, sizing him up. “…Orders were to make the streets unsafe, keep them indoors.”

Christ. Well, that explained a lot. Jareth ran a hand through his hair with a grimace. “Yeah, somebody in Command’s fuckin’ up bad.”

“What are your orders?”

“Destroy the churches.”

“ _What?_ Half of them are _living_ there!”

“Hey, I do what I’m told.”

“How’s that working out for you, big fella?” Martel lifted her lip in a half-sneer. “I guess when he made you he put all the stuff meant for brains into brawn instead-“

Jareth grabbed her by the shoulder and slammed her none-too-gently into the wall. "Watch yourself, lass,” he growled. “Nobody calls me stupid.”

“Then don’t _act_ stupid and use that brain of yours. Something’s wrong here.”

“Yeah, figured that out a while ago. We’re getting different orders, and we’re not supposed to be.”

Martel glanced outside, where it was – thankfully – still quiet. “That’s what I’m concerned about.”

“What does that mean?”

“We’ve all been stationed here for almost two years, and it’s been near seven since this feckin’ war started. We’re _supposed_ to be ending it.” Martel returned her gaze to him. “Think it’s working?”

“Of course,” Jareth started to say, then paused. “I mean – we’re _trying._ ”

“Are we?”

“Nobody _wants_ wars to last.”

“Uh huh.” Martel seemed to be letting it drop. “You’re right, it’s probably a mistake. We’d better start communicating to make sure we’re not working at cross-purposes again.”

“…Yeah. That sounds like a good idea.” And… whether or not she was _right,_ Jareth did like that she cared about ending the war. Sometimes it felt like nobody else remembered that. “You should, uh, come by our camp tonight. All o’ you.”

“Seems all at peace here.” Then Martel paid attention to him again. “Wait, are you –“ She sighed. “Are you _hitting_ on me?”

“Maybe?”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a bit of a smirk on her face. “Takes an awful lot of confidence for you to hit on a Special Forces lady with a crew cut and a neck tattoo.”

“Happens to be that’s a turn-on.”

“ _Boor._ ” She tucked her dagger back into her belt. “We’ll see you tonight. And you’ll have to try harder than that.”

“I will,” he shot back with a grin. Still, what she’d said was bothering him. Nobody wanted wars to last… but guns cost money. Bullets cost money. People were making dough off of the war – just not the people who were suffering. He didn’t like thinking about that.

And then there was the other stuff – the doctors and their labs. But he didn’t go there for a reason. What Marcoh and Knox and the others were up to wasn’t his business, and he was fine with that.

* * *

DEPARTMENT OF INTERNAL AFFAIRS (INVESTIGATIONS DIVISION)

OFFICIAL MEMO: CLASSIFIED

The following personnel are ordered to appear in front of a court martial and are required to be released from all other duties for the given time span. Failure to appear will be considered insubordination, except for reasons of medical incapacitation. Postponement may be negotiated in other extenuating circumstances on a case-by-case basis.

COLONEL D. SOLARIS, NATIONAL DEFENSE  
LIEUTENANT-COLONEL Z.J. KIMBLEY, SPECIAL FORCES  
MAJOR A.L. ARMSTRONG, INVESTIGATIONS  
MAJOR W. P. ELRIC, NATIONAL DEFENSE  
SECOND LIEUTENANT H. J. BREDA, NATIONAL DEFENSE  
SECOND LIEUTENANT J. HAVOC, NATIONAL DEFENSE  
SECOND LIEUTENANT M. ROSS, INFANTRY  
SERGEANT ERIK CHAMOND, INFANTRY  
CORPORAL J. A. DAVIDSON, INFANTRY  
PRIVATE SHESKA THOMAS, ARCHIVE & CIRCULATION SUPPORT STAFF

The court martial will begin at 0600 sharp tomorrow, July 14th. Outside viewers are prohibited except by written permission of the Fuhrer’s office. Recording equipment is prohibited except by written permission of the Fuhrer’s office. All personnel will be searched upon entering and leaving the court. All involved personnel, and family and friends of involved personnel, will be surveilled for the duration of the trial. Transgressions will be punished to the fullest extent of the law.

Signed,

Fuhrer Roy Mustang


	40. Hello (I Love You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: lack of agency in general, sanism (obviously), queerphobia but particularly the brand of homophobia that is… well-intended but rooted in incredibly dangerous false ideas about queerness, captivity, alcohol, and however to tag the paranoia of ‘literally cannot trust anybody’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good lord, this chapter gave me so much trouble. I wasn’t going to put all this together at first, but then I figured putting it all in one chapter actually made more sense from a pacing perspective.
> 
> Song is by Roger Waters (not the Doors! Different song) and if it feels familiar, it’s because it’s from the ending credits of The Last Mimzy, one of the more underrated and lovely movies of my childhood.

~40~

_Have you heard, it was on the news  
Your child can read you like a bedtime story  
Like a magazine, like a has-been out to grasp  
Like afternoon TV, why is my life going by so fast?  
Hello I love you, is there anybody in there?_

**_-Hello (I Love You)_ **

Will had lost track of time. Mostly, he’d lost track of time because by the fourth straight day of travel in the covered truck with bad suspension, he wasn’t sure how much of what he was seeing and hearing was real and how much was stress hallucinations, still coming in and out of focus. Trisha hadn’t made an appearance, but some of his others had; silhouettes of people with too many arms and legs, too many eyes, glitches in the air around him, spinning lights, and even things like cats or insects that crawled over the legs of the unsuspecting and unaware soldiers.

Truthfully, he was really just starting to get used to it. Although Kimbley had raised an eyebrow at him when he’d been staring at the cat, trying to determine whether or not it had wandered in from outside or if he was seeing things again, and then folded his arms on his lap through the hallucination. “Do you want something, Fullmetal?” he’d said, before Will realized what it looked like if the cat _wasn’t_ there.

Being crazy, he decided, was mostly _annoying._

But when the truck ground to a halt and the doors swung open to reveal the lights of Central Hospital, he felt panic grip at his throat, and he pushed back against the soldiers’ grip. “Wait, I – I –“

“ _Move,_ ” one of the soldiers ordered, and squeezed hard enough to bruise –

“That’s enough,” Kimbley sighed. Then he took hold of Will’s handcuffs. “I will be escorting Fullmetal the rest of the way.”

Will wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. But at least Kimbley wasn’t actively violent with him. “Can…” He swallowed. “Can I see the Colonel? Please?” He sounded so small, and he hated it.

Kimbley seemed to have some meaner response on his lips – then, instead, he shrugged. “We’ll see.” He led Will away from the soldiers, and Will sighed, letting it happen for a moment – then he stopped, pushing back against Kimbley’s grip.

“What _now_?” the older man sighed, irritation obvious in his voice. Will tried to pretend it didn’t bother him. Kimbley being _irritated_ was nothing compared to everything else he’d put Will through. But it sort of stung anyway, being looked down on.

Will swallowed. “We’re, uh. Going through the front doors?”

“Where else would we be going?”

He’d known, intellectually, that he wasn’t being taken to an asylum like in the old days. Ten years ago, psychiatry hadn’t even been considered real medicine – and it was still an uphill battle – and he should have considered himself lucky not to be thrown into something like Bedlam or the Overbrook Lunatic Asylum up north or out west. East still had some, for more severe patients. But _here –_

It was _better,_ he kept trying to tell himself. Central’s asylum was just another wing of the hospital, now. One of Mustang’s specially funded projects for the heart of the nation. Or maybe one of his generals – Will couldn’t really keep track, he’d barely paid attention. He just knew he didn’t want to go in. He’d almost have preferred a separate building with bars on its windows.

Kimbley looked dispassionately down at him. “I see. You don’t want people to recognize you. You want to sneak in through some side-door like a thief in the night, is that it?”

His face burned with humiliation. Of course it sounded stupid said like that. And if he didn’t get hurt so often, it wouldn’t even _be_ an issue – but of course it was him who knew the nursing staff in just about every city from here to Youswell.

“What a shame. You almost had my respect.”

Will felt – god, was it _disappointment_ surge up in his chest? It was quickly followed by the same cold rage that had been his constant companion since Forcett. He had no reason to feel disappointed that he didn’t have Kimbley’s respect. But all the same – why _shouldn’t_ he? “What did you say?”

Kimbley raised his eyebrows, scorn mixing with a challenge on his face. “I don’t find cowards interesting. Certainly not ones who have proven that they’re capable _of_ being interesting.”

“I’m not your fucking sideshow.”

“Certainly not. You’re nobody’s sideshow. Isn’t that what you’re trying to prove, to whoever’s watching?” A half-smirk grew on Kimbley’s face. “Or is it only strangers you’re willing to stand up to others over? Ishvalan mutts and rural innkeeps?”

He couldn’t afford to get angry, not on the outside. But god, he couldn’t control it, and all he wanted to do was punch Kimbley in the face. Proving him wrong was only half as good. “Whose side are you even _on?_ ”

“You’re thinking in two dimensions, Will,” Kimbley teased, grabbing his handcuffs again and marching him – but a little more gently – towards the front doors. “Sides are for chessboards and city streets. I consider myself a little more refined than that.”

That was all very well and good if you were playing chess, Will sighed to himself. Somehow he didn’t think refinement had much to do with whether or not you framed somebody for murder, but he was too exhausted to put together much of a counter-argument. And whatever energy he had was going to go somewhere else.

 _Think. Come on._ Then – Oh. He was so fucking stupid. They knew him. And they knew him because they were always bandaging him up after one of his missions, especially the ones that brought him close to Central. They didn’t know him as well as the nurses and orderlies out East, but well – he’d deliberately made himself easy to recognize and hard to forget. That had bitten him in the ass often enough.

The problem was, well, being _himself_ wasn’t going to work. ‘Himself’ was a nightmare. He had to borrow someone. He could do that easily enough – he did it all the time. Just… usually not so _deliberately._

Kimbley opened the main doors and led him through the lobby, and Will slouched back, giving Kimbley slack on the cuffs that he clearly wasn’t expecting. Kimbley glanced down at him, look communicating clear suspicion – and he just shrugged, grinning back.

And, finally, the first good luck of the last few days. He recognized the man at the front desk. He was rummaging through his papers, then looked up – “Oh, good grief. Elric? What have you done to yourself _now?_ ” Then he saw the handcuffs and Kimbley’s rank insignia. “…uh. Sir.”

Even better. They _didn’t_ know Kimbley.

Will shrugged and laughed. “The usual. Things went a little south.” Then a little wince. “Maybe a little _more_ than usual.”

“That’s _one_ way to put it,” Kimbley shot back. “I’m taking him to Ward One. I want you to have the appropriate papers ready for when I come back.”

The receptionist paused, looking between Kimbley and Will. “…Uh. Ward One? Are you _sure?_ ”

“Orders from the Fuhrer.”

A few others had gathered, in particular an older woman who Will _definitely_ recognized. “Oh for goodness’s sake. Ward One is for _lunatics._ I want to see those papers.”

“They’re probably still in processing. Like I said, this is on direct order from the Fuhrer.”

“Then I want to hear it from the Fuhrer, Mister-?”

Will hid a smile. He was placing her name, now. Nurse Pat had been here for at _least_ four years – he remembered her, at least in passing, from four years ago.

Oh.

Shit.

Which meant she’d been around for his _other_ breakdown.

“ _Lieutenant-Colonel_ Zolf Kimbley at your service,” Kimbley replied, sounding more than a little irked. He had it coming, frankly. He’d been the one telling Will to be interesting.

“Aw, it’s alright, Patty,” Will said with a laugh. “I’ve dealt with mad scientists, I doubt Ward One’s much worse. And it’ll get cleared up pretty quickly.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re awfully confident, ent’ you?”

“It’s the thought of your beautiful smile making me feel better- _Ow!_ ” Pat had swatted him on the head with the clipboard she was holding.

“None of your backtalk, Elric. I don’t care how old you are, you’ll always be a pint-sized brat to me.”

“Fair enough.”

Kimbley _definitely_ looked a little like he’d swallowed something incredibly foul. “What do you suggest?” he replied to Nurse Pat, voice slightly acidic. “That I lock the dangerous lunatic to the fence until the Fuhrer dots his Is and crosses his Ts?”

“That’d be suitable, yes.”

“This is insubor-“

“That was a _joke,_ Lieutenant-Colonel,” Pat interrupted before Kimbley could lose his temper. “Unless those are illegal now.”

Will watched Kimbley carefully, the fate of the soldier in the inn still fresh on his mind. But Kimbley just huffed. “I will leave him in your hands, then. If something happens, it’s on your head.”

“I think I can live with that,” Pat retorted. She waited until Kimbley had stalked out of the building, then sighed, shoulders falling.

There was a snort of laughter from the desk, then the receptionist cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“Any chance you can get these off me?” Will asked hopefully. Long shot, but-

Pat shook her head – then pulled the top page off her clipboard. “The papers came through this morning.”

“Really?” He couldn’t help the skeptical expression, and she just gave him a look of her own.

“Support staff _do_ talk to each other, you know. I’m well aware of who he is. And afraid I might have to sanitize this whole building now.”

He tried not to laugh. The urge passed, though, when she took him by the cuffs, leading him towards the elevator. “Zeb, finish the processing for me, please.”

“Are you sure you don’t want someone else with you?” he asked.

Will bit down on his tongue trying not to show how much that had hurt. It didn’t help when, instead of brushing off Zeb’s comment, Pat hesitated, then nodded her head at one of the closer nurses. A new one. One he _didn’t_ know.

On cue, the voice he _didn’t_ want to hear whispered to him, “You could still take both of them. Even with your hands cuffed.”

Will jerked away from the smirking shadow, and felt Pat’s hand close like a vice on his arm. Not helping his case. He stayed silent, even as they led him into the elevator and closed the gate behind them.

“…What does that report say?” he asked, trying to stay calm. Meaning, _what lies are they telling you?_

“It’s policy not to show Ward One patients their transfer papers.” It was the new nurse who’d spoken. She probably hadn’t even read it, except in passing.

“C’mon. Don’t tell me you _believe_ it.”

“It’s not our job, unfortunately,” said Pat with a sigh, “to believe or disbelieve the orders we’re given.”

“Bullshit.”

“It isn’t _prison,_ W- Major Elric,” Pat said, and he couldn’t decide whether or not it helped or hurt that she’d almost called him Will. He liked being on first name basis with people. He’d never quite managed it with Pat – well, in her direction, anyway – but _almost._

Will closed his eyes, jaw working in fury. “Whatever else you want to think,” he said from between clenched teeth, “I’m not _fucking stupid._ ”

“Language-“

“I _work here,_ Pat. I know what Ward One is. It’s for the criminally insane – people who commit crimes and can’t be put on trial for it. I know that because usually I’m on the side arresting people.”

Pat subsided into silence. He supposed he should feel guilty, but everything had become a strange miasma of vague emotion at this point, drifting somewhere he couldn’t reach. He only had room to feel one thing at once. Fury was good, but fury was going to get him killed. “…It isn’t right.”

“I _told_ you-“

“It isn’t right that they signed you on so young. You’re right. I don’t believe the report they sent me. But if they discharge you, that’s a good thing in my books.”

So he could, what, get sent to a foster home? Go home to Rizenbul and never see Alex again? Get sent to a different asylum, this time without even the vague protection of his rank? Will had to wonder what Pat thought him being discharged would look like.

“Can you do me a favour, then?”

“What’s that?”

He took a deep breath. “Make sure Colonel Solaris knows I’m here. Please,” he added.

“No more quips about my beautiful smile, I see.”

“You _do_ have a nice smile.”

There was an amused look playing around her mouth, he noticed when he glanced back at her. She clearly couldn’t help it. “I’ll make sure she knows. And if this _is_ all a misunderstanding, I’m sure it’ll be cleared up quickly.”

“Hope so. Although let’s be honest, this fits right in with my mystique, right? Nobody’s gonna bat an eye.”

There was a snort of laughter – from, he realized with a grin, the _other_ nurse. He turned his head, looking back at her as she tried to regain a straight face. “Sorry. I apologize,” she fumbled.

“Are you kidding? I feel better already.” He gave her a half-smile, and she nervously returned it, still looking a little like she thought he would bite her. “Just make sure when this one makes the rounds that someone adds Patty spittin’ in Kimbley’s face.”

“I think _not!_ ” Patty said in horror, her coworker descending into helpless giggles. “You keep me out of this!”

“Aw, and you say I do nothing for you.”

She rolled her eyes, but the affection was obvious. And Will knew she couldn’t let him go – but that wasn’t what he was after.

When the doors opened, though –

At first, Will didn’t react. He thought he was hallucinating again. But when the doctor looked up, he smiled at all three of them. “I was wondering when he’d show up. Hello, Will.”

 _Don’t attack. Don’t hurt him. Don’t make this worse. Don’t._ But the boy with no face was whispering to him again, and the Gate echoing beyond that, and –

Will squeezed his hands behind him so tightly that he felt one of his fingernails puncture the skin. He waited until Pat and the other nurse had descended in the elevator again – then he stood there, facing Dr. Holland and feeling his heart break all over again.

“Pride.”

Dr. Holland didn’t react. He simply tucked the pen he’d been using to sign the paperback back into the pocket of his coat, and returned Will’s steely gaze, like nothing had changed.

* * *

When Selim and Will had been… oh, King wanted to say maybe four or five? Sometime before Trisha’s death at least – he had found them playing house. It hadn’t been anything inappropriate, really. The standard children’s games you expected with a husband and a wife and strange Child Ideas about how adult life worked. It just so happened that he’d turned the corner when they’d been practicing _kissing._

In retrospect, he was glad he hadn’t done much. Just told Selim in a slightly strangled voice that dinner was ready, and given Will a steely glare that he… _hoped_ the other didn’t remember. And later, almost too nervous to talk to Minna directly, he’d gone up to the Elrics and told Trisha about it.

Trisha had been too sick to walk at that point. He hadn’t realized it. She _sounded_ alright, but he had to go up to her bed, and she’d shooed the kids away. And when he’d told her, she’d just nodded, sighing a little. “So that’s how it is.”

It was such a calm response, compared to the bizarre blend of feelings he was experiencing, even now almost ten years later. “I mean, they’re children. They’ll grow out of it, I just certainly hope it won’t continue.”

“Oh, well.” And Trisha had smiled and shrugged a little. “I mean, King, even if they don’t – there are worse things, you know?”

That was what was on his mind now, sitting out in the sunlight, puffing on his pipe and hoping the ginseng would calm his nerves _eventually._ He hated it when Trisha was right, especially when she managed it past the grave. (And she’d done _that_ more than once, right along with his wife. He probably should have listened to them more.) _There are worse things._ He’d started his adult life as a doctor. Not a surgeon – the kind of doctor who treated illnesses and scraped knees. But then he’d lost his first wife to tuberculosis, and plague had lost whatever shine of curiosity it’d had – Still, though. Some things stuck around.

He wasn’t a stranger to homosexuality. He’d been in the military, for god’s sakes. Wilde Act or no, the policy had always been ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ – don’t advertise it too loudly, and the brass wouldn’t sniff around or make a fuss. And he’d been propositioned a few times, which he’d found insulting at first and a fact of life later. It was just that… well… both as a doctor and a Major, it’d been easy enough to believe that it was an illness, a condition. Nobody _wanted_ to be a queer. It barred you from a normal life, and even if you hid it, it found a way to wreak havoc regardless, whether through impotence or the sly, years-long seduction that left men in their fifties and sixties disgraced and divorced.

Easy enough to believe that. Easy enough, until you tried to think of how to tell your son that, and found it suddenly bitter on the tongue. There were worse things, indeed. He just had to reassure _himself_ of that – and that it had no connection to whatever was going on with Selim now.

Plus, doubting his perspectives now meant he was questioning a _lot_ of his decisions. He’d let Will and Alex run off on their own. Largely because, admittedly, he wasn’t sure now if he’d been happy to let them venture off and keep them away from Selim. Probably not – but part of him had _almost_ believed it was a Solved Problem, hadn’t he? That Selim would just come home with a girl one day.

“Look at this way,” Pinako had said, in her usual direct way, “at least Will’s pretty enough that he might as _well_ be a girl.” She’d found that funny. He didn’t find it funny at all, because at least other gay men could pass as roommates.

“Dad?”

Well, he was out of time. Selim was awake.

“Oh, good, you’re up. It looks like you’re feeling better.”

Selim nodded, but there were still deep bags under his eyes, and he shook a little as he sat down. “Um, mostly. There’s just – a lot on my mind.”

“What’s wrong?”

“…Do you think Will’s a bad person?”

It was neither the question he’d expected, nor far away enough from the topic for him to quite recover in time. “W-well, _no,_ obviously, just-“

“Just what?”

It was a little sharper than he’d expected. “A – a touch _degenerate,_ maybe but-“ Wrong thing to say. He knew it even before Selim reacted, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Um. Give me a moment.”

“ _Degenerate?_ Are you _serious?_ ”

“You took me by surprise. Give me a moment-“

“The fact that you even think that is…” Selim rubbed the balls of his hands into his eyes, jaw working behind his cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

Selim didn’t look at him, the hurt in his eyes obvious. Lovely. He’d already screwed this up.

“I meant in the sense of –“ He frowned, trying to use words that _wouldn’t_ hurt so much. “Can you imagine him at Lyon Hall?”

Selim didn’t laugh like he’d hoped – but there was a _touch_ of a smile there. “Lyon Hall sucks.”

He’d suspected as much, although he resolved to ask again when Selim’s emotions weren’t running so high. It was unusual from him, actually – he was used to Selim being almost preternaturally calm. It was probably why he’d been so taken by surprise. “Whether or not it does, it certainly doesn’t mean I think Will is a bad person. Just-“ There wasn’t really a good way to say it. “I was raised thinking people like him were. That’s been an odd perspective shift, getting older.”

“People like him. You mean queer.”

Ah. So they’d gone ahead and said it out loud. King rocked his head back and forth non-committally, still feeling a little like he’d been cornered. “That, and the – everything else. Loud, disrespectful of authority, rebellious, rule-breaking…”

“I thought you liked him.”

“Selim, I love him almost as much as you.” There was a double meaning to that, he realized, as Selim’s cheeks turned a little pink. “I practically raised him after Trisha died, don’t you forget that. Don’t think for a moment I don’t love him. I just _worry_ about him. Just like I worry about Alex, and I worry about you.”

Selim still looked a little sullen, but he nodded, accepting this – at least to a point. “…Do you think he’s a bad influence on me?”

“Jury’s out on that one,” King harrumphed. “According to Pinako, he was fully under the impression that your trip with him was with my knowledge. But I don’t know if I believe he would have cared either way.”

Selim was giving him a sideways, almost expectant look. One of them was going to have to say it out loud, and King took a deep breath, reminding himself that he was the _adult_ here. Whoever had invented adolescence, he thought grimly, should be shot.

“So,” he said after a moment. “He’s your boyfriend, hm?”

And, much to his surprise – and _endless_ entertainment – Selim, who had started the conversation so tense and wary, turned a vivid shade of eggplant, hands immediately out in front of him. “N-no! I mean – um – we’re not – that’s not – it’s not, um, _official –_ it’s, just, uh – DAD.”

“That _sounded_ like a yes.”

“ _I was going to come out first thank you VERY MUCH-_ “

“I’ve known since you were four, Selim.” And just like that, it felt like something had been lifted from his shoulders. It was strange. He’d thought treating it like a secret was helping. “Not quite as _clearly_ as with Will, mind you.”

“Now I know what he feels like all the time,” Selim grumbled, still trying to hide the embarrassment. He was also still glancing up at King, worrying at his bottom lip. He was still waiting for the _rest_ of the reaction – just in case.

“I’m not angry with you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m a little concerned, but that’s…” King made a helpless gesture with his hands, and to his surprise, Selim nodded.

“Pinako… talked to me about that.”

“ _Did_ she now.” Then – “Oh, I suppose this means you won’t be trying to glare her into an early grave anymore?”

“A ceasefire has been called,” Selim replied archly. Then he fidgeted with his hands in his lap. “You’ve really known that long?”

“Oh, well, one gets his suspicions.” He didn’t really… _have_ to know, he knew that much. But he was curious now. “When did you?” He stopped himself before asking why Selim hadn’t told him – because of _course_ he hadn’t.

“Just kind of… eventually, I guess.” Then Selim turned a bit pink again, a little smile creeping onto his face. “I think I _knew_ when I, um – when I went to Central, before going to Lyon Hall. I’d kind of, uh – I got confused whenever people talked about girls being pretty and boys _weren’t,_ so I guess I’d started figuring it out already, but…”He paused, obviously embarrassed.

“Will?”

“A-actually, um…” Selim’s cheeks were getting darker and darker by the minute, and he muttered to himself, “Never gonna hear the end of this one,” before continuing. “You know uh, the lieutenant who works with Will’s commanding officer?”

He did – the snarky one with the sunglasses. He was trouble, that one – King had known it the moment he’d looked at him. And-

Oh.

He gave Selim a nonplussed look, and Selim hid his face in his hands. “…I am entirely fine with you being gay, but couldn’t you develop some semblance of taste?”

“It’s not my fault! Will thinks he’s cute too!”

“I _certainly_ am not accounting for Will’s sense of aesthetics. Also, Will is fine. Bring home a man that much older than you, and I will not hesitate to shoot him.”

Selim really was smiling now, even staring at the floorboards. “I can work with that. And trust me, _I’m_ not stupid enough to get involved with a grown-up.”

The stress on the ‘I’ was making him start to worry all the more about Will. But at least Selim was being smart. Still, though… “What _is_ going on with you and Will, then? Falman insists that you have some way of communicating with him. And you’ve been… I don’t know what this is.”

“I don’t really know how to explain it,” Selim replied, face falling a little. That almost helped. Whatever it was, Selim was just as worried about it as he was. “And I’m… not sure you’d believe me. I sound crazy to _myself._ But we’ve – checked it and everything, so it’s definitely real.”

King leaned back. “Try me.”

Selim pulled a face. “Give me a minute?”

* * *

The bastard had drugged him. He couldn’t remember how – he vaguely remembered being uncuffed and offered a drink, which he’d been too thirsty to think about –

Will blinked blearily at the room he was in. He wasn’t asleep. Just… out of it. He’d been kind of wavering between asleep and half-awake for the last while. Getting the pieces of Selim’s conversation with King was helping – and he was glad to notice that whatever he’d been given, it _wasn’t_ hitting Selim, this time. Maybe it wasn’t strong enough.

Then –

_Hey, how are you feeling?_

He groaned. He’d been following the conversation enough to know where this was going. _Not well enough to help with party tricks, Sel._

_I know, I know, I’m sorry. I mostly just want –_

_If you say emotional support, I’m going to hit you. I am sympathetic. I am also in a mental hospital._

Selim had the good grace to feel sheepish. _I promise, I – look, I think if I explain this to Dad, I can help._

 _I’m not sure what you have in mind._ A few uncharitable things came to mind, and he felt Selim flinch, but he quickly followed them up with, _I trust you. I’m in pain and pissed off, but I do trust you._

_Thank you._

_If nothing else, I owe you for accidentally getting you high._

_…You know, I wasn’t going to bring that up, but now that you mention it…_

Will laughed weakly. God. The floor was cold, but it was nice on his face. He moved to lever himself up –

Mother _fucker._ Holland had taken his arm. Not that he could blame him, and it was a nice change from the cuffs. At least he could move his flesh arm just fine. He propped himself up, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Wherever Holland had put him, it wasn’t a patient room, which boded _extremely_ badly for his survival. There was a chair, sure. That would have been nice if he could reach it. And his leg was cuffed to – he glanced back – that was _insulting._ A desk leg, that was bolted to the floor. He was in an _office._

Well, he couldn’t do a whole lot until his head cleared. At least Selim’s side of things meant he could distract himself from the headache. He closed his eyes, watching the conversation with Bradley.

“I, um – okay, so since we were kids, I guess Will and I have always known how the other was feeling. To a weird degree.”

Good start, he supposed.

“And then recently, it started getting stronger, and-“ Selim paused. “I don’t think I’m doing a good job. Uh, lemme try again.”

Will resisted the urge to facepalm. _He knows the word psychic, Selim._

_Yeah, and he will IMMEDIATELY tune out._

_He’s also gonna tune out if you keep babbling on._

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at,” King said, brows furrowing.

Selim sighed. “Uh. Somehow, me and Will, our – our minds are connected? Souls? I don’t know.”

“I already said I don’t mind that-“

“Not – not that.”

He couldn’t help a little snicker as Selim’s embarrassment rose up again. It was probably a little mean how much enjoyment he was getting out of this, but he enjoyed seeing Selim flustered. _Good job. You accidentally convinced your dad we’re soulmates._

_I wanted your help! Not snarky commentary!_

_Sorry, sorry._ He draped an arm over his face. Everything _still_ felt weird. He was just glad he hadn’t thrown up. _The injuries are concrete. He’ll listen to that, first._

 _…I don’t, um –_ The thought came through anyway, even though Selim was trying to hide it. _I don’t want him to know that._

_He’s fuckin’ well noticed, Sel. Get over it._

Selim was obviously irritated, but well – he knew he had a point, and besides, there was no non-awkward way to do this. “All of those injuries I keep getting, they’re not – they’re not _mine._ They’re Will’s.”

“What?”

“Not – he’s not hurting me. But when Will gets hurt, I get hurt. And vice versa. I think.”

_Now_ King was listening. Will could tell from the way he’d sat up in his chair, eyes focusing keenly on Selim’s face. Most specifically, Will realized, his eyes. It was like King was staring right at him. “…Alchemy?” King asked.

_Ooh, quick on the uptake. Although he did have to deal with me and Alex growing up, so I’m not surprised._

“Yeah. At least, that’s what Izumi says.”

“Izumi? When did you talk to her?”

“Will was visiting her a few weeks ago. She’s the first person we really, um, _told._ He nearly drowned, and I called Sig.”

King was still frowning, but he was _listening._ The only trouble now was – and Will tried not to feel a little hurt by the possibility – that he’d think it was some stupid shit _Will_ had done. King’s opinion of him certainly seemed low enough. “And the two of you can… talk to each other like this?”

“Yeah. That part’s… new. For a long time it really was just – emotions and stuff.”

King sat back in his chair, looking a touch poleaxed. Will tried to tell himself that King’s response didn’t matter to him – that he was just being ‘emotional support’ for Selim. Then he took a heavy breath. “And he can hear what you hear. I’m a fool.”

“What?”

Will’s heart thudded against his ribcage in a jolt of surprise.

“He’s listening, isn’t he?”

Oh. Oh, he hadn’t – he hadn’t signed up for this.

“I – yes, but –“ Selim was a little lost for words. He’d expected, just like Will, a different response.

“I owe a double apology, then. I should have been watching my mouth anyway, but I see why you got so angry.” There was frustration in King’s voice – but it wasn’t aimed at Selim. It was aimed at himself.

Will wished, suddenly, that he could talk to King to himself. But what on earth would he say? That he’d been called much worse than a degenerate before? That it mattered much more that King had affirmed that he loved him anyway, even _not_ knowing that he was listening?

_You can’t afford to feel anything right now,_ he reminded himself. It wasn’t safe. Whatever he was feeling, he’d feel it later.

“This isn’t normal alchemy, though, is it?” King asked.

Selim shook his head. “It just kind of… happened.” Then, to Will’s irritation, he added, “Will’s worried that you’ll think he did it on purpose.”

_YOU ASSHOLE._

_You are! And don’t yell at me, I can tell you’re kind of glad I said it._

_That doesn’t mean you – argh. Jerk._

King shook his head insistently. “I’ve given off a _terrible_ impression. No, good lord, no. Will would never hurt you on purpose. Accidentally, perhaps. But anybody with a set of eyes can see how much he cares about you.”

Now they were _both_ flustered. Parents. Sometimes he was glad he didn’t have any.

“What was the other night, then? Was…” King paused. “Was that one of Will’s, um –“

_He’s not even supposed to know about that,_ Will said, feeling more and more vulnerable by the moment.

_I mean, this is Dad. I just kind of assume he knows everything._

_Except, somehow, that you’re queer?_

_…Shut up._

_Hey, you wanted me here._

“Um. Sort of, yeah. That part’s new. I don’t usually – I think it’s been getting stronger. I’m not sure what we’re gonna _do_ about that, but…” Then Selim paused.

A split second later, Will realized what he was going to do. “Jesus christ, Selim, don’t drag him into th-“

“Will’s in trouble. I need your help.”

“What kind of trouble?”

_SELIM I AM GOING TO KILL YOU-_

 _You have to survive first!_ And Selim continued on.

“He disobeyed orders, but he had – he was _right._ He saved a whole camp of people. And – and you would have been really proud of him, Dad. But the military arrested him for it, and now they have him in an asylum and I – I don’t know what’s going to _happen_ to him.”

Will sat up, ignoring how his head span. He was going to kill him. He was – _jesus._ He was _fine._ He was – okay, maybe fine was an exaggeration. But he didn’t want King knowing about this. Solaris was going to show up, and clear this up, and he was going to be _fine._

_Will, you were asleep for almost 24 hours. Where is she?_

He’d suspected it. He’d suspected, but he still hated Selim for saying it.

He couldn’t break the connection, but he looked away. Selim could deal with King for now. He had one arm, was cuffed by the leg to a desk, and in an office instead of a real patient room. Either all Ward One rooms looked like this, or something was _seriously_ wrong.

Alright. Step one. The room itself. It didn’t look like a _used_ office, which was… something, he guessed. There were filing cabinets lined against one wall, and the chair itself looked in decent enough condition. The desk he was half-underneath was severely battered, though, and – _aha._ Will bent himself over, trying to get a close look at the bolt. Sure enough, the bolts were secure, but the desk leg itself was cheap sheet iron, half-rusted and bent.

One window. That was a positive, although admittedly, Will didn’t know how high up he was. The Central Hospital was a good seven stories tall, and he wasn’t sure he could do a seven-storey jump. But three… maybe.

Alright. So where was his arm? He didn’t think Holland would have destroyed it, although he wouldn’t put it past some of the other homunculi. No, Holland – _Pride,_ he reminded himself – was more calculating than that. It was a bargaining chip. And he wouldn’t put it far away, either. Which of the filing cabinets were unlocked? _Whichever ones don’t have dusty locks,_ he resolved. There. The one on the end. Maybe it really did just have files in it – but in a room this clearly abandoned?

The only trouble was, he couldn’t hear a thing from outside. Which _didn’t_ mean they couldn’t hear anything from inside. It just meant he didn’t know if anybody was coming.

Well, it was that or sit on the floor and give himself muscle problems for another whole day. He lay flat on his back, lifted his automail leg, and gave the desk leg a sharp, directed kick. It bent but didn’t break; with a second kick, though, it snapped clean off from the floor, the cuffs slipping free of the end.

Will staggered to his feet, watching the door carefully as he struggled to regain his balance. It almost felt like a _hangover,_ what he had – not like the usual effects he had from morphine at all. Then he made his way over to the filing cabinet –

Something silver and sharp hissed through the air, and he threw himself back from the cabinets, back slamming against the wall next to the desk. The blade pushed against his chest, and his breath halted in his throat, waiting for the cut – but it was dull, thudding against him with a blunt impact instead of the slice he’d expected.

“Nice try,” came the low voice, and Pride stepped out from the piece of the wall next to the window that he’d been camouflaged against.

Son of a _bitch._ He’d assumed he was alone in the room. Will looked down at the blade. It was a scythe, he realized – the inner edge was sharp, glinting in the light, and Pride was holding the handle with a deceptively loose grip. “A little dramatic, don’t you think?”

He shrugged, and then with a wave of his hand, the scythe disappeared into shadow, disappearing back into the tattoos on his arm that shifted and danced in hues of red. It was a neat trick, Will had to admit. “Maybe a bit. But swords are a little too rigid for my liking, and I never got used to firearms.”

Will tried to tell himself that he could move, now – that the blade was gone – but before he could get his body to cooperate, Pride had grabbed him by the collar and pushed him down into the chair. Another set of cuffs clicked around his wrist and the chair’s arm, and the ones he’d _just_ gotten free of the desk clicked around the chair’s looped leg as well. “That should keep you from trying anything else, at least for now.”

“Isn’t it bad enough that you drugged me?”

Pride looked up at Will in surprise from where he was fastening the leg cuff, then glanced away, hiding a smile. “…I didn’t drug you.”

“What?”

“Or, well, I suppose it counts.”

“What did you _give me?_ ”

“A fifth of vodka. You downed it before you realized it was alcohol. Which, by the way, is an accomplishment.”

Will opened his mouth to complain, or disagree, or _something,_ then felt his face turn red. It didn’t help that Pride looked ready to laugh at him – or that this _absolutely_ felt like something Dr. Holland would do. It was hard, looking at the face of a stranger and still recognizing that really, he and Pride had known each other for a long time.

Pride stood up, dusting off his knees. “If you’re asking me why you were asleep for so long, it’s because you’d been awake for about three straight days, on a horrifying amount of drugs, and spinning out. You needed the sleep.”

“Oh, what, you care now?”

He couldn’t interpret the look Pride gave him at that. Instead, the older man crossed his arms and leant back against the filing cabinets. “…Care to tell me what possessed you?”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Where am I?”

“Central Hospital, Ward One.”

“In an abandoned office?”

Pride grimaced a little at that. “…More or less.”

“Why?”

“I could lie to you, but why waste everybody’s time?”

Will jerked against the cuffs, seething and wondering what _would_ happen if he could get his hands around Pride’s throat. “You didn’t have a problem _before!_ ”

“Things changed.”

“You _kidnapped my fucking brother-_ “

“You really are kind of one-note, aren’t you?”

“Suck my dick.”

Pride looked down, but Will still caught the amused smile on his face. He _hated_ it. He was being laughed at, and he didn’t understand why.

Okay. Take a breath. Pride was pushing his buttons – but he was avoiding his questions. He was in the hospital – maybe – but he _wasn’t_ in a patient room. And in all this time, Solaris hadn’t shown up. Nobody had shown up. No nurses. No officials. Nobody he knew.

“Kimbley works for you, huh?”

“Oh, gross. N- well, sort of, I suppose. But it certainly wasn’t my decision.”

Well, that was interesting. Until now, Will had assumed that Pride was either in charge or at least fairly high up in whatever cult he was in. He’d certainly given that impression. But he wasn’t calling the shots. Which – he mused with a bitter taste in his mouth – posed the terrifying question of who could _possibly_ be ordering him around. “Good to know. But if I’m in here, then I’m gonna go out on a limb and say the military has no idea where I am.”

“Great detective work. Do you want a prize?”

“I mean, if you really want me to believe they treat patients like this-“

Pride looked a little pained at that. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but trust me. This is the better option.”

“Than _what,_ my CO knowing where I am? And – _no, you jackass,_ I don’t trust you! You’re the enemy!”

“Yep.”

Will scoffed, hanging his head in what probably looked to Pride like defeat. That was the great thing about long hair. It meant they couldn’t see your face when you were thinking. Whoever Pride was working for was taking the opportunity to secret him away for reasons unknown. And Kimbley – oh, bloody hell. Kimbley’s little jab about sides. He was probably playing them against each other.

The big question, though, was what they actually _wanted_ with him. Will couldn’t understand what Pride could possibly do to him in an abandoned office. A torture cell, sure, or an alchemy lab like Lab 5. That he could wrap his head around. But even then… there was nothing he _knew_ that was of worth to Pride, and he certainly wasn’t the only alchemist around. The only thing he could think was that he had to be killed for knowing too much. And…

And, he admitted, Pride had had a _thousand_ opportunities to do so. That was what was bugging him. If Pride wanted him dead, _really_ wanted him dead, it would have happened a long time ago.

He looked up at Pride through the curtain of purple hair he’d pulled down over himself. “…Who are you?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m going to give up all the information you w-“

“That’s not what I mean.” Will narrowed his eyes at Pride. “You have my face.”

“It’s not yours,” came the immediate, snapped reply – and then Pride closed his mouth, teeth gritting behind his lips.

“Is that really what you look like?”

“It was. Long time ago.”

Will wasn’t sure what that meant in numbers, but he knew enough about the myths around homunculi to know that it could mean a colossal amount of years. Certainly the ease with which Pride slipped between old man and teenager gave away plenty. But it was all the more disturbing that the shape Pride sat in the most comfortably – the one that he almost seemed to _default_ to, when he wasn’t playing a role – was maybe a year or two older than him. And Pride was right; it wasn’t _his_ face. Will was all angles, always had been. Pride was a little less jagged, a little more muscle instead of tendon and bone. His hair was straight where Will’s was wavy, and even the hue of gold was different. But it was _enough._ Enough to know that, no matter how much Pride spat about it, they were related.

There. He’d acknowledged it. The _implications –_ especially considering his deadbeat father – were a whole other headache.

“What’s gonna happen to me?”

“We’ll see.”

A lump rose in Will’s throat again, and he jerked at the cuffs again, straining towards Pride. “ _Tell me!_ ”

Pride threw himself forward, hand over Will’s mouth. “Lower your _voice,_ for god’s sake.”

Will tried to bite Pride’s hand, but he couldn’t get any purchase.

“Has it not sunk in, _at all,_ what kind of position you’re in? Shut your _fucking_ trap, you imbecile, stay quiet, and behave until the trial’s over.”

Will managed to jerk himself free. “Trial?”

“The less you know the _better._ ”

“What is this about?”

Pride covered his mouth again. “Will,” he said again, and he could almost pretend that it was the man he thought he knew, the therapist who’d actually helped him – “do not attract Mustang’s attention. _Don’t._ He’ll have you raped and killed just to prove a point.”

Will let out a horrified breath. He couldn’t convince himself Pride wasn’t lying to scare him – especially since the Fuhrer was _human,_ and Pride wasn’t. But… But Forcett was still heavy on his mind.

“I have to go.” Then, to Will’s horror, Pride pulled out a rope, and tied it around his mouth. “…Just. Just stay _quiet._ ”

Quiet? He was supposed to stay _quiet?_ But with the rope gag in place, he didn’t have a choice. He just watched Pride disappear out of the window – and immediately started working on a new escape plan. If Pride thought he was going to believe him just like that, then Will wasn’t the only crazy one here.


	41. Over the Hills and Far Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Structural/legal homophobia, violence, overstimulation, manipulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more fun with Kimbley here, and back to the Diana and Jareth side of things. I have done… a ridiculous amount of research on court martials, and I’ll be fudging a certain amount of it because Amestris is a mash between several countries, but in short, they work the same as a regular trial except that the military are the prosecution.
> 
> Song is another of those recorded by like five hundred people, but the version I know and love is by Nightwish.

~41~

_They marched him to the station house,  
he waited till the dawn.  
And as they led him to the dock,  
he knew that he'd been wronged.  
He knew that it would cost him dear,  
but yet he dare not say.  
Just where he'd been that fateful night,  
a secret it must stay_

_- **Over the Hills and Far Away**_

If it had been any other day, Diana would have kept her cool. It was five o’ clock in the morning, she was out of options, and she was staring into the cup of coffee she’d picked up from the sullen cafeteria worker, waiting for the others to show up. She’d done her best to prepare them, but there wasn’t much she _could_ do. And still no word on Will…

Any other day. She refused to feel bad.

“Why, Diana, you look –“

She’d been spared actually hearing from him until now. And in silent, determined rage, she put down her mug of coffee, spun on her heel, and drove her fist into Kimbley’s stomach. With an audience of – this early in the morning? Maybe ten, twenty people. Still probably too many, but she could _not_ care less.

“Sorry, what was that, Zolf?”

He coughed, trying to catch his breath. “…Never mind, I suppose. I see you’re still angry.”

“What gave you that impression?” she replied, voice dripping acid.

Kimbley laughed, although it didn’t quite hide the wince as he straightened up. “I’m starting to think people around here have long memories.”

“Nobody likes traitors.”

“ _Traitor?_ That’s such a strong word, Di-“ He’d done one of those ridiculous sweeping hand gestures again, and she grabbed his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers with such force that she was suddenly aware of the fact that she _could,_ if she wanted to. She was a head taller than him. She was stronger. She hadn’t been rotting away in a jail cell for half a decade.

“ _Where’s. Will.”_ She asked it so coldly that for a moment, she felt like Spark again, younger, stronger, with a Red Stone burning a hole in her pocket. And Kimbley could feel it too – the little flicker of apprehension in his eyes gave it away. Asshole. Maybe he’d been the big shot in the prison yard. In their unit, he’d been the runt compared to her, Jareth and Isaac. A prettyboy who took care of his hands and didn’t like getting dirty. Jareth had mussied him up a bit, but some of that affected nature was still there, still –

His eyes set, fear moving away somewhere she couldn’t see. “If you’ll unhand me, I’ll be happy to regale you with stories of our little trip, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you about anything past the Central Hospital doors.”

“Classified.”

“ _No,_ Diana, I _left._ ”

“That’s Colonel Solaris to you.”

“Alright, Colonel. Now if you’d be so kind as to not permanently maim me?”

Diana let go of his hand with a growl. “Don’t be dramatic.”

He straightened his uniform, clearing his throat. “I would never.”

She hated that she _almost_ wanted to laugh at that. There had been a time in her life when she’d nearly missed him; the same way she missed the others. You got used to it, eventually. You put people in the same black hole as the rest of the war. But usually they didn’t come _back._

She glanced around. The onlookers, smartly, glanced away the moment they saw she was noticing them – all except the lunch ladies, who were glaring at Kimbley with just as much hatred as her. Then, exhaustion catching up to her, she sat down, retrieved her cup of coffee and did her best to think about anything _but_ what was coming.

“…Your protégé is quite something.”

She glared at Zolf again, who was standing in front of her – too smart to sit down, too stupid to make himself scarce. Although he had promised to tell her about Will, she supposed. “Mmhm.”

“I’ll stay quiet on the details of what he’s in trouble _for –_ not my place –“ (bullshit, Diana thought; Zolf made _everything_ his place, which meant he simply didn’t feel like telling her) “-but I will say that he’s made quite the impression on me. Also, on my nose,” Kimbley added ruefully.

“Your nose?”

“He dislocated it. With his _forehead,_ too. I don’t suppose you taught him that.”

She hid a smile behind the coffee cup. She would have loved to take credit, but no, she hadn’t taught Will a damn thing when it came to combat. “You had it coming.”

“Of course _you_ would say that,” he grumbled – then took a sudden, careful step back when he returned his gaze to her.

She tried not to laugh, but the grin showed up anyway. A little sadistic, perhaps, but she’d earned it. “I see you’ve remembered to be scared of me.”

“Sometimes fear is a completely reasonable response. For example, minutes after having my fingers nearly crushed. I doubt any true philosopher would call that _cowardice,_ unless they’re operating on a playbook that went out of fashion with the cavemen.”

…She hated this. She hated that she _had_ missed him. He was such a fucking prick. And here, now, the most vulnerable she’d ever felt, it was so easy to try and pretend that he was still just Lotus, the odd duck who was disconcerting at worst, but really no worse than the rest of them.

Kimbley was watching her, she realized. She couldn’t make herself care. Let him read whatever he wanted from her face. “…As far I’m concerned, he’ll be quite fine. If he doesn’t irritate one of the nurses into shooting him full of opium.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It would be if you’d been in _my_ position.”

She didn’t respond. So Will had been fine right up to reaching the hospital – if Kimbley was telling the truth. It was only after that he’d disappeared. And it was probably too much to hope that he’d escaped; for one, he’d probably have left a bigger mess. Subtlety wasn’t really his strong point.

“I never took you or Jareth for the mentor type.”

And there it was. Diana had known it was coming. Seven years out of Ishval, seven since she’d seen Kimbley, and here he was, and she had _almost_ been able to pretend. But the moment he mentioned Jareth-

“Get away from me.”

“C-“

“Kimbley,” Diana continued before he could get a word in, “if I decided to burn you to a crisp here and now, I am _positive_ that every person currently in this cafeteria would back me up in saying that it was provoked. _Leave. Now._ ”

He seemed ready to say something else. But then, he took a deep breath, gave her a lazy salute, and departed. It was a shame. She’d kind of wanted the excuse.

Somebody cleared his throat behind her, and she turned, looking across the table. Seated on the opposite bench was Breda, who gave her a half-hearted smile. “I didn’t think interrupting was a good idea.”

“Oh, lovely. So I had even more of an audience than I thought.”

“If it’s any consolation-“

“Don’t,” she snapped. “I don’t want to _hear_ the word consolation right now.” Then she caught Breda’s face, sighed, and made herself take a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I get it.”

She leaned her face on her hand, giving up on looking like a proper Colonel for now. There’d be plenty of that during the trial. Breda and the others had already badgered her out of being drunk at work, helped her with paperwork for killing a homunculus, and stayed patient with everything Will had pulled over the years. Now they were getting dragged into this. “…Do I have to worry about any of you?” she asked quietly. She couldn’t say it out loud, but she knew Breda would catch the meaning. _Who is and isn’t queer? Who’s vulnerable right now?_

Breda chewed thoughtfully on his cheek. “Miraculously, I think most of us at the office are alright. Although I don’t know everything, obviously.”

“Me neither.”

“See, that shocks me.”

“Not _everything_ is my business, Breda.”

He smirked a little at that – but then the smirk faded a little. “I… will say, uh –“

“What is it?”

“Havoc didn’t come in today. I saw him yesterday, and he didn’t look good.”

“ _Havoc?_ ” Havoc was as straight as they came. If anything he was probably just anxious about the trial in general. Although –

She stared into the half-drunk cup of coffee. The whole _point_ was to come off as straight. She and Jareth had never been very good at that. And besides, any woman as tough as her was going to get accusations of being a lesbian eventually; there wasn’t much point in trying too hard to forestall that. But, well, here they were. There were consequences to that.

“Anybody else?”

“Maria Ross. I think you knew that one.”

“…I’d _suspected._ Thank you.”

“Armstrong-“

“Sorry, wait, which one?”

Breda blinked in surprise. “The Major. Why?”

_Sander?_ She bit her tongue to stop from cussing. Her point was just being proven. She wasn’t surprised, not _really,_ and there was every chance Jareth had known about him – although she couldn’t imagine that coupling having taken place – and just never mentioned it. Although woe betide the poor fool who clued in Phillip Armstrong that almost half of his children were bent. “No reason. Christ, and the Major’s serving under Archer now, isn’t he?”

“Same as Ross.”

“Splendid. This is shaping up brilliantly,” she snarled.

Breda just sat quietly, staying calm – _for_ her, she realized. He was good at that. It surprised her, in a way, that he was taking all of this so well. The straight men in the army weren’t always the best about realizing who they were surrounded by; it varied depending where you were, but she hoped Breda himself was safe. Hah. ‘Safe’. Like being queer was an infectious disease now. Not for the first time, she wondered how much trouble she could save herself with a bullet in her brain –

-but too many people needed her. And there was still that shred of hope that maybe it would all work out.

“I hate to state the obvious, Solaris,” Breda said, voice low, “but they are going to find Will eventually. And-“

“Yes, I know,” she sighed. “But they can’t punish him for anything more than not wearing the uniform, and maybe a smack on the wrist for mild indecency. I checked.”

He seemingly couldn’t help himself a small smile. “…How long ago did you check?”

“The moment he walked into my office with a skirt on. Do I look stupid to you, Breda?”

“So he hasn’t…”

“Not to my knowledge. And in this case, it _is_ my business.” Breda nodded, but he didn’t look convinced – and Diana felt a prickle crawl up her spine. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“I don’t _think_ so. But Fuery and I were talking last night, and…” Breda exhaled, glancing around again. The cafeteria was big, and a difficult room to bug as it was; but there was a reason they’d been so careful about what they said out loud. “We’ve both been noticing.”

“Noticing. That’s far too vague.”

Breda shifted uncomfortably. “The Lieutenant hasn’t spent any time with Will, has he?”

It took a moment for Diana to click to the euphemism – then she stared at Breda in horror. “ _No!_ He’s a child!”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m _sure,_ Breda. What-“ She started to catch up, and rubbed her forehead. She’d noticed Will’s crush on Jareth a little while ago, just before Alex had gone missing. It had probably been developing for a long time, and it was _harmless,_ just… one of those things. But Will had no poker face. None. Breda was asking because Breda needed to know if anything had actually _happened._ A crush couldn’t be litigated. A relationship _could._

The problem was, if Will had been that obvious, the second was easy enough to invent. And who didn’t love a good story about young boys led astray into depravity?

“The puppy dog eyes, right?” she asked, to be sure. Breda nodded. “Yeah, that’s – just one direction. Don’t worry.”

“That’s what I thought, but it’s good to check.”

“You really thought he would?”

“I mean…” Breda shrugged a little helplessly. “ _I_ wouldn’t, but he’s been a soldier since he was twelve. I don’t know how mad I’d be.”

That was a fair point. It was just concerning to think about. She’d stubbornly had Will as counterintuitively virginal in her head, and that was _probably_ true given how uncomfortable he got when sex actually came up, but there was every chance it wasn’t. And would he have trusted her enough to talk to her about it?

She was giving herself a headache.

“The others will be here soon. I promise. You’re not alone in this.”

“I know,” she shot back dismissively, but she was thankful regardless. Mustang’s words kept bouncing around in her head like the echoes of gunshots. His threats against Will. The insistence that Jareth was doomed, no matter what. And the promise, so tempting, so _tainted,_ of power. 

* * *

Jareth hadn’t been there for Kimbley’s court martial, but he’d followed it regardless, right up to the bitter end. Four executions, one life imprisonment. As a result, his memory for the procedure was – rather than consigned to the dumpster where so much of his academy training had ended up – rather closer at hand. Even six, seven years hadn’t quite banished it.

So he knew how this was _supposed_ to work. He’d get a lawyer assigned to him from the Service Justice System, and they’d defend him in the actual court. His job was to work with his lawyer, keep his trap shut, and hope things worked out in his favour. The Judge Advocate General would be the one presiding – he’d guessed that even before the official paperwork had confirmed it – not just because he was an officer, but also because he was ex-Black Ops _and_ National Defense. He’d have killed to be a regular-ass Sergeant in West City right about now. And it would almost be a comfort that both his defense lawyer and the Judge Advocate General were civilians, if they weren’t _also_ appointed by the Fuhrer or his direct cabinet.

Jareth leant back in the chair, tilting it on the back two legs, waiting for the guy to show up. The trial was supposed to start in half an hour. Today would be… fine, probably. It was just the process of declaring the charges and officially beginning the process.

Fine was an exaggeration.

Where _was_ he?

_You’re not getting one,_ offered the bleak voice in his head. _They’re just going to declare you guilty, have you killed, and leave it at that._

Nah. The Fuhrer’s credibility depended on at least a kangaroo court.

_Settle down. He’s probably not even behind this._ Archer had pretty much confirmed that this about Lust and the homunculi. Just… he couldn’t _also_ help but wonder if anybody else was concerned that anybody who could tell the truth about Ishval was dropping like flies. Martel, Dorochet, Law and Bido had been executed years ago; Zolf had avoided that fate only by throwing the other four under the bus; Isaac had been shot point-blank after a failed attack on behalf of the Eastern Liberation Front. He, Zolf and Diana were the only Black Ops members left.

The door opened. Jareth pulled the chair back down onto all four legs – and stared at his defense lawyer.

“Lieutenant Jareth Valjean?” she asked in a voice slightly deeper than he’d expected, but still lighter than her size would have had you believe. She didn’t tower over him – but she was easily an inch or two taller, which was a feat from _anybody,_ let alone a woman. And Jareth was used to tall, skinny women. _She_ was built like a wrestler, square-chinned and bulging.

“Yeah, that’s me. Uh. You’re an Armstrong, huh?”

She glared at him, then sat down in the chair across from him. “Amue Armstrong, barrister. Stop staring.”

“Sorry, ma’am. I’m friends with your brother.”

She visibly relaxed a little at that. “Don’t think it’ll get you special treatment. We’ve got thirty-two minutes before we’re required to appear. How quickly can you get me up to speed?”

“…I’m gonna need more than thirty-two minutes.”

“Summarize, then.”

“Uh. I mean, I didn’t kill Maes Hughes. That’s the big one.”

“Mmhm. And yet, here you are. Why do you think that is?”

“I fought… something. Below Central. H- it attacked me, first, and was clearly a threat to national security. There’s a proper report on it and everything, but my unit’s still working on finding more information about it. The timing is interesting. Also, I’m ex-Black Ops, and-“ His mouth dried up a little. “Well, that seems like a possible motive, is all.”

“Motive for framing you? Is that what you suspect?”

“Yeah.”

Amue nodded, taking notes. “Lieutenant Valjean, if you want any chance at proper representation, you’ll have to be completely honest with me. So forgive my impoliteness here.”

He knew where this was going. Thank god for his glasses.

“Do you identify yourself as homosexual?”

God. He wanted to lie. He glanced around the room, wondering if it was bugged – but it wasn’t particularly a _secret,_ was it? The issue wasn’t whether it was true, it was proving it.

“If you’re looking for wires, by the way, I have it on good authority that they haven’t bothered.”

“Good authority?” he echoed.

Amue shrugged. “Being an Armstrong has its benefits.”

So much for the unbiased civilian, he supposed. But as far as the rich families went, the Armstrongs were pretty decent. Well, either Amue was on his side, or she wasn’t. “…Yes. Bisexual, to be specific. I don’t have a preference.”

“That helps to know. I suspect at least some of the prosecution’s plan is discrediting your relationships with women.”

He couldn’t help the snort at that. He’d seen _that_ play before. “Yeah, that won’t work.”

“Bisexuality is, unfortunately, _still_ illegal. The Wilde Act’s fairly clear in forbidding acts between men, no matter their actual identity.”

“Yeah, I figured. Worth a shot.”

Amue finished taking her notes. Then she looked them over, face serious. It was hard to imagine her as Sander’s older sister – she reminded Jareth more of Olivier, to be honest. At least she _looked_ like Sander, as unfortunate as that had probably been for her marriage prospects. “…I’ll get this out of the way now. It’s true that the Wilde Act hasn’t been enforced. But I did my research. When the Wilde Act _has_ been enforced, it has never successfully been challenged. It’s the actual penalties that vary. Usually, the COs in question are happy to just discharge an officer or throw him in jail for a few months – nothing serious. And usually, it’s not paired with a murder charge.”

“So you’re saying I’m in trouble.”

“I’m saying cutting a deal might be a good idea.”

“I _didn’t kill him._ ”

“I’m aware of that. But-“

“But nothing,” Jareth shot back. “If I take a deal, Maes’s actual killer goes free. _And_ everybody I know goes back into the closet, too scared to even talk to each other about it.”

That last part clearly took Amue by surprise. She looked away from him for a moment, and Jareth wondered how much _she_ knew about her own family. Both her oldest and her youngest siblings were directly threatened by the Wilde Act – and even civilians were affected by it, with different penalties. You couldn’t assume from looks, really, but a big lady like her certainly courted her own assumptions. “You’re worried about what it’ll do to morale.”

“Morale is a dumb word, but sure.”

She actually _did_ smile at that one. “To be clear, are you challenging me to take on the Wilde Act itself?”

“If it comes up. I mean, why not, right?”

“I have a very long list of reasons, _beginning_ with the firing squad you’re risking.”

“…I mean. I’ve survived worse.”

“Than twenty rifle shots to the chest?”

“Maybe not a lot worse.”

Amue really was warming up to him now. Maybe he did have a bat’s chance in hell. “…Alright. We’ve got fifteen minutes left. Here’s the list of witnesses being called.” She pulled out the piece of paper and slid it over to him. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you how many of these people you’ve had relations with.”

Jareth wrestled down the sick feeling in his stomach. He’d known what this was going to turn into the second the words had left Archer’s mouth. Just – god. His personal life wasn’t anybody’s business, and all he wanted was Maes here to tell them off for being fucking _nosy sneaks –_

 _-_ but if Maes was here, there wouldn’t be a problem.

Amue was watching him carefully. “I know this is difficult. He was clearly important to you.”

“You have no idea.”

“Were-“

“ _No._ And you don’t get to ask that.”

She hesitated, then nodded. She would bring it up again later, he knew – but not now. He looked at the list.

COLONEL D. SOLARIS, NATIONAL DEFENSE  
LIEUTENANT-COLONEL Z.J. KIMBLEY, SPECIAL FORCES  
MAJOR A.L. ARMSTRONG, INVESTIGATIONS  
MAJOR W. P. ELRIC, NATIONAL DEFENSE  
SECOND LIEUTENANT H. J. BREDA, NATIONAL DEFENSE  
SECOND LIEUTENANT J. HAVOC, NATIONAL DEFENSE  
SECOND LIEUTENANT M. ROSS, INFANTRY  
SERGEANT ERIK CHAMOND, INFANTRY  
CORPORAL J. A. DAVIDSON, INFANTRY  
PRIVATE SHESKA THOMAS, ARCHIVE & CIRCULATION SUPPORT STAFF

…And _now_ he was just worried Amue was going to think he was a manwhore. He _was,_ a bit.

“Solaris and Private Thomas,” he said finally.

“Those are both women.”

“I’m not outing anybody to you until you’ve proven you’re not going to hang me out to dry,” he replied.

“…That’s fair enough. May I at least get an approximation?”

Fine. “One or two.” That was, strictly speaking, accurate. And Kimbley likely didn’t give a whit about being outed at this point. It was Havoc he was concerned about. This way he could always keep Havoc out of it, if he _had_ to.

“Good enough.” Then she stood up. “Don’t speak when we’re in the court. Sit up straight, don’t slouch. And _don’t_ embarrass me.”

He thought – he hoped – he could manage that.

* * *

Alex had expected Central to be less overwhelming in a real body, but when he stepped off the train and into the station, it was so, so much _louder_ than he’d remembered. Louder, and busier, and people kept knocking into him, passing so close by him –

“Train 3 departing for South City in ten minutes-“

“-did you _see_ what she wore at her debut? Awful-“

“-I dinnae ken a damn thing aboot it and ye’ll stop askin’-“

-the train horn cut through it all and he tried to cover his ears, suddenly _overwhelmed-_

“Get up before she sees,” came the hiss in his ear, then an arm pulling him up, He couldn’t get his hands off his ears, and so he found himself unceremoniously shoved away from the station until finally, they were in a calmer nook, filled with unclaimed cargo.

Sloth gave him a skeptical look. “What are you _doing?_ I can get my clones to carry the rest of the baggage, but you can’t do that in the middle of a train station, you dumbass.”

“I… sorry,” he mumbled. He’d never felt like that before. He still felt shaky, exhausted – like he’d run a marathon instead of simply getting off a train. And, to his horror, he was on the edge of tears, too.

Sloth looked ready to say something else cutting, then sighed, sitting down on one of the abandoned suitcases and tugging on his shorts to get him to sit down as well. “…It’ll pass.”

“What?”

“I keep forgetting you’re new,” she grumbled. “We – we’ve got better senses than humans do. After a little, we can mess around with the intensity a bit so we don’t get overwhelmed like that. But you haven’t gotten there yet.”

“I’m not the same as you.”

“No,” she admitted. “You might not be able to change it. That, and I was just some bratty kid. You were cut off from your senses _entirely_ for a while.”

So she had been a kid. Alex wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure he’d like the answer. Sloth caught the look on his face, though, and she snorted. “Don’t look so concerned. It was still my choice.”

“Did… everybody choose it?”

“Um. Mostly? Sort of?” Sloth rubbed the back of her head. “I’ll be honest, I don’t _know._ I know Envy’s different anyway, and Pride doesn’t tell me anything.”

“That’s because you’re a blabbermouth.”

“Pride!” Sloth squealed happily, leaping up from the suitcase and jumping into Pride’s arms. He rolled his eyes, but gave her a hug anyway, a little smile on his face.

Alex stayed seated, looking at Pride curiously. He was still getting used to seeing things he’d seen before with new eyes. He knew what Pride _looked_ like. But he missed so much as a doll. Pride smelled sweaty, like he’d been running, or fighting; and there was a slight edge to the way he moved. Tension, like a violin string. Plus, there was still the golden hair and eyes. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t notice.

It took him a moment to realize that Pride was looking at him, too – and he started to attention. “I didn’t think you were meeting us here.”

“I wasn’t, but there’s been some developments.”

“Developments?” Sloth echoed.

“Uh.” Pride pinched the bridge of his nose. “Long and short of it, I’m gonna kill Greed myself one of these days.”

“Please don’t. She’ll be so mad.”

“She should _thank_ me. He’s a pain in the neck bureaucrat who’s making unnecessary trouble because he’s glory-seeking.”

“Who’s Greed?” Alex asked, and Pride stiffened slightly – just confirming that things were worse than he was even saying.

“You haven’t met him. Hopefully, you won’t for a _long_ time.” Pride grabbed Alex by the arm, and shoved both him and Sloth along, then grabbed both of their arms as he practically marched them out of the station. He shifted before they hit the crowds, and Alex found his arm linked with a young tallow-haired soldier. “I like the body, by the way. Design it yourself?”

“Oh. Y-yeah.”

“Suits you. The outfit could do with being a little less _conspicuous,_ though.”

“Don’t look at me!” Sloth complained. “ _I_ don’t know what modern fashion is.”

Pride just rolled his eyes. He still seemed… stressed. The Pride he’d met before had been – if not relaxed, at least able to fake it. Alex kept his eyes open, wondering what could possibly have ‘developed’.

Then, suddenly – Pride turned them into a wall. Alex pulled up his arm –

-to no impact. He opened his eyes. Instead of brick, he was staring down a set of stairs, and Pride was pulling the doors closed behind them.

“Al’s escorting Dante the rest of the way. Winry, you’ve got clones with him, right?”

“Yes. Don’t call me that.”

“Sorry. Slip of the tongue.”

…Now _that_ was interesting. He’d thought Pride and Envy were the only one with names for each other. Although the name ‘Winry’ kept sticking in his memory, like he was supposed to know it. But now they were out of the crowds, and before Pride could march them down the stairs, he stood firm.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing you need to worry about,” Pride replied breezily, or what would have been breezily if his tattoos weren’t coiling angrily on his arms.

Now _Sloth_ was looking at Pride strangely. “Edward,” she said dangerously, “what is _wrong?_ ”

“I told you. Greed is wrong,” he scowled.

“What’d he _do?_ ”

“Look, I-“ Pride looked more than a little helpless. “I really can’t get into it right this second. I only managed to get away because it’s the first day.”

“First day? Of what?”

“The trial.” He tried to gesture them down the stairs –

Alex whirled on him. “ _Who’s on trial, Pride?_ ”

“It _isn’t_ your brother, and therefore, you don’t have to worry. It’s just one of the idiots who killed Lust.”

Alex’s spine was prickling. “Then why won’t you tell me?”

“Because you are the official baby. Please just _go._ ”

Sloth rolled her eyes. “Well, _I’m_ going. I miss my bedroom here.” She poofed away, clearly preferring to avoid the steps – which _did_ look a little treacherous.

Alex crossed his arms, staring Pride down. He was well aware that Pride probably could hurt him _really_ badly if he wanted to – but he wasn’t made of wood anymore. He had a lot less to worry about. “It’s one of my friends, isn’t it?”

“One of your _old_ friends,” Pride sighed, admitting it. He dragged a hand down his face. “Alex, you left these people behind. Loudly. This really isn’t the time to suddenly decide you’re still loyal to them.”

“I – I’m not.”

“Good. Because that’d be unfortunate. Got it?”

Pride’s voice sounded exhausted – but the words were clearly a threat. Alex tried to make himself let it go, but his stomach still quailed. “…Is it Hughes?”

And Pride’s hands stopped dead. He stared at Alex, then let out a barely-restrained curse. “Great. _Great._ You leave, and everything happens, and I’m stuck dealing with it.”

“But –“

Pride took a deep breath. Then he put his hands on Alex’s shoulders, in what would have almost been a comforting gesture if he couldn’t feel the weight of it. “Lieutenant Jareth Valjean is currently on trial for the murder of Maes Hughes. I am… really, really sorry. And now you understand why you are going underground, and staying there, okay?”

“ _What?_ But he wouldn’t – I – that’s not –“

“Alex.” Pride’s voice had dropped down low. “Let me handle it.”

He was starting to worry about what it looked like when Pride handled things. But there was something intense in Pride’s eyes, something that just… reminded him _so much_ of Will. They looked so similar that he couldn’t help it. And he’d said something about Greed. “…Okay,” he whispered. Then he started down the stairs, nausea building in his stomach. _That_ was one thing he hadn’t missed.

_You can trust Pride,_ he told himself.

…He wasn’t sure that was enough.


	42. So Far From Your Weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: imprisonment, structural/institutional homophobia, lewd jokes (I’m not TOO worried, but still), guns, sanism/ableism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language notes! The Latin inscriptions in this are all based off of – although not 100% accurate to – real dirty graffiti found in places like Pompeii and Herculaneum. Yes, down to the penis. The first one that isn’t translated is roughly – “Virgula to Tertio: you are indecent!” The odd spelling and abbreviations are also accurate to Latin inscriptions.
> 
> Song is by The Dead Weather.

~42~

_There’s a bullet in my pocket burning a hole  
It’s so far from your weapon, the place you were born  
There’s a bullet in my pocket burning a hole -  
You’re so far from your weapon and you wanna go home_

_- **So Far From Your Weapon**_

“Diana, how are you not a _little_ excited?”

“We’re going to war,” she sighed from her seat, still reading her novel. “It’s not exactly a picnic, J- Valjean.” She glanced up just enough to catch his pout at that. “Oh, come _on._ We’re graduates now. We can’t make fun of the formalities forever.”

“I thought the whole point of Special Forces was that we didn’t have to _bother._ ” He flopped down next to her – but it didn’t keep him down for long. “Who else do you think is gonna be in our unit? I like the whole horizontal structure thing. But it means we have to get along with them otherwise there’s going to be problems.”

“I _do_ technically outrank you.”

“Only because you passed that damn test. And I’m not calling you Major until I have to.”

She tried not to smile – but she couldn’t help it. For months now, she’d been paralyzed with fear that graduation would see them all separated, assigned to units across the country. And that had come _half_ true; Maes had apparently been offered a Special Forces position and turned it down. But she and Jareth were still together. Not by chance, either; the General had seen how well they worked together and recommended it. “Okay, but promise me you’re going to behave.”

“…What does that even _mean?_ ” Then he snorted, prodding her in the ribs. “Right. Because I’m the badly behaved one, and not the one who f-“

“ _Quiet,_ ” she hushed him. They were sitting in the atrium of Central Command’s main building, and they were probably fine, but she didn’t want to start off her career with somebody hearing about her affair with Olivier Armstrong. Then, she added primly, “It’s called networking.”

She would have gotten mad at Jareth for laughing so loudly, but it _was_ funny. And nobody had _explicitly_ said she had to give up her sense of humour now that she was an officer.

“…Major Solaris? Second Lieutenant Valjean?”

Oh. Whoops. She elbowed Jareth, then stood up, saluting the person who’d appeared in front of them. Then she paused, taking him in. She'd expected a burly older man, like the Generals she'd met, or maybe someone like Olivier. She'd known everybody in Black Ops was an officer at least, but -

"Oh, don't salute me," he said, almost sounding embarrassed. "Major Zolf J. Kimbley. Pleasant to make your acquaintance."

"Great, I'm outnumbered," Jareth grumbled - and Kimbley laughed, still looking sheepish.

"By alchemists or upper officers? Because I think both are true."

Jareth blinked - then groaned loudly. "Don't tell me the fourth is-"

"Afraid so. Three State Alchemists, and then there's you." The cheeky smile on his face made it clear that it wasn't an insult, or at least not intended as one. Diana glanced carefully at Jareth to see how he was going to take it. He was the one who was talking about getting along with others - but the alchemy thing was a bit of a sore point.

He just crossed his arms, though, standing up straight - and making a very salient, silent point of his own as he drew up to his full height. About a head and a half over the slight-figured Zolf.

Zolf grinned again, not intimidated in the least. "Thank goodness. I can never reach the top shelves at the commissary. I don't suppose you'll help?"

This time, it was _Diana_ who laughed, the snicker bursting out of her mouth as Jareth gave her a wounded look. "Sorry," she said, not quite meaning it. "Who's the fourth?"

Kimbley's face soured a little. "Isaac McDougal."

"Have you two worked together before?"

"...Something like that," he mumbled.

Diana couldn't help the instinctive way she observed people. She could already tell plenty about Kimbley from the way he stood, the way he spoke, the way he looked. He was older than them - he had to be - but he didn't look it, face slender and foxlike, and there was an almost-affected nature to his Centralite accent that gave away that he was one of the people born into it. No other dialect creeping through, no slangy shortcuts.

Still, though, she wasn't going to hold it against him. Mostly because there was a hesitance to him that felt an awful lot like the anxiety she was pushing away.

"I'll, uh - take you over to the Colonel," he sighed. He turned, and almost by instinct, Diana and Jareth fell into step on either side of him.

"Come on, come on, all four of us have to work together. What's his deal?" Jareth urged, a touch of mischief in his voice.

"You two will be fine. It's _me_ he doesn't like," Kimbley replied, voice giving away nothing but slight disgruntlement.

"Why not?"

Kimbley _did_ pull a face this time. "He's been my CO for two years. That appears to be enough."

Oh. Well, that was interesting. "In Special Forces?"

"No, no, this division is new. Combat Arms, 4th division."

"Whoa, like, the big guns?"

"Uh. Yes."

"Stop being squirrelly," Diana groaned. "What did you _do?_ "

"I didn't do anything wrong," he protested in return. "I just like making things go boom."

"....What things?"

"Ah-heh." Then he shrugged. "Mostly things that aren't supposed to."

That would do it. Also, she hated how much that actually endeared him to her. An explosives guy sounded fantastic. "Well, you've got Jareth hooked now."

"Hey, don't judge me. Explosions are fun," Jareth shot back. And Kimbley looked up at him with a slightly-startled, impressed expression that lingered just a touch too long.

Diana averted her eyes, trying to decide if she was amused or annoyed that Jareth had found a potential lover within five minutes of joining Black Ops. Who knew? Maybe it wouldn't turn into anything.

Then again, they were about to be in the desert with only each other for company for god knew how long. There were worse ideas.

* * *

They'd put him in an actual cell, now. That had been - well, not really a surprise. He'd just been hoping otherwise. Maybe for bail, or something.

But then he'd heard the actual charges. Christ.

Jareth wished he had something to throw at the ceiling. Instead he was stuck lying on the practically-wooden mattress, staring at the cracks. _Second-degree murder. Conspiracy against the state. Assault of a superior officer. Violation of the Wilde Act. Indecency and obscenity._

He'd almost been hoping they'd just... build a murder case. Even after what Archer had said.

Jareth closed his eyes. Amue had tried to reassure him afterwards, that there was no way they had the evidence for half of those. They were just trying to make sure something stuck. He believed her, mostly, but he wasn't sure evidence was going to come into it.

It wasn't fucking _fair._

He threw his arm over his face, tears of frustration making his eyes burn. He'd never thought the military was fair. He'd just... never really thought it was going to get turned on him.

"Is this a bad time?"

When wasn't? Motherfucker. He sat up, the prison jumpsuit bunched around his waist. He probably wasn't supposed to be shirtless, but fuck 'em. The thing didn't even fit properly. Then he looked over at the bars.

"Great. It's you."

Hawkeye didn't react to the slight, simply inclined her head. "I was wondering if you had a moment-"

"Hell no."

"Sir, it's only a few moments."

"You think I forgot who you work for?"

That actually got him a near-scowl from her. He sighed and sat up. "Fine. What could you _possibly_ want?"

She just inclined her head slightly. "The Fuhrer wanted to pass on his apologies for not appearing today."

"How nice of him."

"He's...involved, but he has misgivings about all of this. Please know that he doesn't approve of the Wilde Act being invoked here, and he has plans to revoke it."

Jareth stood up, getting closer to the bars and watching her face carefully. She was a small woman, and just as hard to read as ever. But he didn't believe for a second that Mustang felt sorry for anything. "He can come down here and tell me that himself, then. Even better yet, get me out of here."

"I'm... afraid he can't do that."

"Why not?" he challenged. Even on her blank face, he caught a hint of - something.

"Again, he expresses his apologies."

"He runs the _fucking country._ He can stuff his apo-" Jareth stopped himself. Then he chuckled, all the more for her almost offended expression in response. "He doesn't give a shit, does he?"

"I can't comment on Fuhrer Mustang's personal feelings, sir."

"You're here on your own. And I thought you didn't care."

"I don't," she replied.

Jareth laughed some more - then slammed his hand against the bars. She didn't respond. Didn't jump, didn't startle. It had been cruel of him, but it was still interesting. Hawkeye wasn't supposed to be combat-trained beyond her bodyguard work. She was a glorified secretary on paper. But maybe she really was as cold as she looked. "...Why me?" he said, finally.

"Sir, I really can't comment on this. As far as I'm aware, Archer is simply following the evidence."

"Yeah. Yeah, sure."

"If there's something I can help you with, or get for you, please let me know. The Fuhrer was very clear that he stands with you."

The Fuhrer. Yeah, right. And Jareth knew all the more now that if he asked Mustang about this, he wouldn't have the slightest clue what he was talking about. "So his pet sniper has a backbone after all."

"Did you think otherwise?"

"You're so quiet it's hard to tell."

And - for the first time that he could really remember - a small smile curved across her face. "I find being underestimated works to my benefit. Not everybody can be six feet tall."

"Sure, because that's a whole lot of good to me right now." God. Hawkeye offering to do something for him was a whole extra can of worms, wasn't it? "I'm guessin' asking you for a rope ladder or a skeleton key is out."

"Unfortunately so, yes." Pause. "I hope you were joking."

"Sure." He closed his fingers around one of the bars, thinking. In all of this mess... "Listen, this sounds weird. But uh, a friend of mine lost something important."

"A friend?"

"Yeah. It's - kind of silly, really? But it's this little doll. About five inches high, black yarn hair, made of wood. It's got arrays on it, but don't worry, it's not dangerous or anything."

"That's strangely specific."

"Look, I got weird friends. Can you help me look for it or not? I can't do anything from in here."

Hawkeye stared at him, then sighed, pushing up her glasses. “…I’ll see what I can do. I was expecting something a little simpler.”

“Is beer also out of the question?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Yeah, see, you’re backin’ me into a corner here.”

“How impolite of me. I’ll be taking my leave.”

“Wait.” He reached through the bars and grabbed her sleeve – and immediately knew it was a bad idea, from the way she froze up at anything even closer to contact. “…What’s going to happen to me?”

“The trial will determine that outcome, Lieutenant.”

Jareth looked at her, then sullenly looked away. It didn’t surprise him when she turned and walked away, the silence stretching out in front of him like something unfinished. Either she’d help look for Alex, or she wouldn’t, or she’d try and wouldn’t find anything.

Not for the first time, he doubted what Will had said – that Alex had theoretically joined up with the homunculi. Pride could just as easily have lied. Alex could have gone anywhere, really. He could be – oh, he didn’t know. Making friends with birds. Tucked away somewhere on a train.

Buried in a mudslide. Crushed by a car. Burned in a forest-fire.

Jareth banged his head against the bars. He was _trying_ to tell himself that Alex was still alive. That had been an easy enough lie when he wasn’t facing a possible execution. But it was possible, wasn’t it? That Alex had run away in a fit of anger and run into something he couldn’t handle. Worse, it was a choice between accepting that and trying to understand how Alex, the voice of morality and ethics between the Elric brothers, could join with a cult that had hurt him and his brother so _badly._

* * *

Both Will and Alex were avid readers. It was part of the whole ‘genius’ deal, Alex figured; he hadn’t realized you weren’t supposed to reading at two years old until they’d started going to school and everybody else was learning their ABCs. And, even if it kind of hurt to remember, it was one of the few things they really _did_ have in common. It wasn’t just that they were smart. It was that learning things, knowledge for its own sake, was just as thrilling as any dime-store adventure novel.

He didn’t know why that made him so sad to think about. Maybe it was just that… he wasn’t sure Will felt that way anymore. He’d seen it less and less over the years, replaced with a need to reach something, to achieve the goal or something close to it –

It was fair enough. But Alex had never been able to _do_ much. And besides, even Will would have had trouble staying bitter when he stepped into the dark cavern below and saw the city splayed out in front of him.

At first, he couldn’t see much; just shadowy impressions of buildings against the sparse, inconsistent light. But then his eyes adjusted, new senses shifting to accommodate for the difference between this place and the bustling, loud city above. He could smell the damp, almost-mildewy air, tinged with smoke from – he wasn’t sure where, but he guessed torches. He could hear the echoes of footsteps – probably Sloth’s, or Envy’s, or Dante’s – from somewhere else in the city, another entrance or another road. In a normal city, sound wouldn’t carry like that, but even small sounds reverberated off the high, curved walls and the ceiling far above.

He leaned out of the entrance of the stairway, looking back and forth; then, looking down, he carefully stepped off the last stair and onto the actual city ground. It already felt different. He ducked down, brushing his hand over the surface, then over the last stair. The stairs were stone; the floor was… he wasn’t sure. Concrete, he thought. If only he could see better – but Sloth had said, hadn’t she? He had different senses now. Why not practice?

The air _felt_ damp, too. There was probably water somewhere in the cavern. And –

Alex frowned. The charred smell wasn’t just from the torches. It wasn’t _right_ for that. He’d never had to identify smells before. He followed his nose, the buildings coming into sharper relief as he moved further into the city. The actual light, he saw now, was somewhere at the center of the city. The road… had clearly pointed there at _one_ point. Whatever cataclysm had destroyed the city had shattered it, moving everything out of place. What a strange thought. He had never thought about cities as things that could break or die before; but there was no avoiding that the place he stood in was a corpse infused with a scrap of life.

 _Just like me,_ he thought, and it didn’t depress him as much as it should have. Or at least it didn’t, until he wondered who had been _in_ the city when it had died, and shuddered. It was still cool. He just wasn’t sure he had the stomach for stumbling over rotted bones at the moment.

Still, though… The charred smell was still bothering him. And with it, something iron-rich and bitter –

 _Oh._ He’d never been able to smell it so strongly before. But that was blood.

There was a second source of light, off to his right. He moved towards it, kicking off the shoes he’d worn on the train with a sigh of relief. He’d always thought Will was crazy for hating shoes, but this way, he could _feel_ the curve of the concrete below him. And if he stepped on something, it was fine. He’d heal. Then he followed the curve of the broken road, rounding another shattered building – and pausing to run his fingers over the etchings in the building’s brick surface.

VRGLAˑTERTIOˑSVˑINDCNSˑES

It wasn’t Amestrian, that much was clear. It kind of reminded him of the Iovian in Julius Albanus’s work. Then he looked at another inscription – a doodle with more words next to it.

MNSVETAˑTENE

“Min…men… sve?” No, wait – Julius Albanus’s book had had footnotes about this. V and U were the same thing. “Men…sueta.” Oh, he knew that one. Gentle or mild. It had shown up in some of Albanus’s commentary on – well, admittedly, why women were badly suited for alchemy. Albanus was a mixed bag. “Tene. Tene?” That sounded like something from another of Albanus’s instructions, about the checks and balances required in any serious alchemy. He was surprised he remembered that, actually, but it had been one of the books he and Will had gotten a lot of their stuff about the Stone from early on. Restrain? Defend? Hold?

_Hold gently. Handle with care?_

Then he looked at the doodle again. It was so faded, even carved into the stone, that it was a little hard to make out. But there was a long part, and then two round-

Oh.

Alex slapped his hand onto his face, feeling his ears scorch red. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, really. He could always come back to this.

He turned back to the light and the strange smell. He could see where it was coming from, now; a little distance from the building, the ground gave way, stone stairs tumbling down into a round pit. In the center, set around the oval-shaped border, were tall lamps of cast-iron. Only two of them were lit out of the seven or so, but that was enough for him to see the center clearly. He crept up to the lip of the pit, gazing down curiously.

The woman kneeling on the concrete was almost familiar to him, but he couldn’t place why without seeing her face. Instead, all he could see was a faint profile and her corn-gold hair, pinned up behind her head, as she studied the ground. She ran her fingers over the dark, almost singed-looking patch, like she was searching for something – and when she raised her hand, Alex saw that the patch wasn’t just stained. There was black ash on her fingers, and that was part of what he’d been smelling. Not just torches. The remnants of something.

He moved a little closer – and a pebble moved under his foot, toppling down the stairs. Instantly, the woman straightened up, turned, and _fired._

Alex let out a yelp and ducked as another handful of shots rang out over his head. “ _Stop shooting!_ ” he cried out, ears ringing.

The shooting paused – but then she replied, “Anyone who’s _supposed_ to be down here can handle a few bullets.”

…That was true. He kept forgetting. “…It still seems unpleasant! I’d like to avoid it!”

“ _Unpleasant?_ ” There was the sound of the gun reloading, which just made him even _more_ annoyed. Wasn’t a full clip plenty? “…Oh good lord, you’re the new one. Present yourself.”

He steadied himself as he stood up, and grumbled something to himself about “ _present_ myself? I was _going_ to, and then you tried to _shoot_ me” – and misjudged where the first stair was. There was a rush of pebbles, the world went topsy-turvy for a moment, and then he slid to a stop at the bottom of the curved stairs, with a tremendous headache, scrapes all over him, and the faint sense that he was being laughed at.

“I see you’re still getting used to things,” she said archly.

“I’m doing _fine,_ ” he grouched, dusting off his arms with a wince before he looked up. “Wait. Hawkeye?”

Hawkeye just raised an eyebrow. “You know me, then.”

“Ah-“ He held up a finger, then wavered, trying to figure out how much to actually say. “Yes? From a distance? You looked a lot _bigger_ at the time.”

She looked at him curiously – then sighed, shoulders dropping and the gun _thankfully_ dropping towards the ground instead of at him. “Of course. You’re that little creature that Elric kept hiding.”

“ _Creature?_ ” he echoed indignantly.

Hawkeye just shrugged. “I never got a good look. Pride told me you were connected to Elric in some way, but I had assumed it was a ferret or something of the sort.”

“A – A FERRET?”

“Why not? They’re very smart, you know.”

“I am _not,_ ” Alex pronounced, crossing his arms with a scowl, “a ferret. Nor have I _ever_ been one. A-Although now you say it,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, “that might have actually been better.”

“What were you before?”

“A doll.”

“Hm. I didn’t think they had souls-“

“I was a _person_ before _that!_ ”

“Of course. How silly of me.”

Alex glared up at her – then caught the twitch of her mouth at the corner. “…You’re _hazing_ me, aren’t you.”

“Perhaps a little,” she admitted. “Sometimes an opportunity presents itself.”

“Har har. Very funny. Are you done shooting at me at least?”

She slid the gun back into her holster. “For the moment.”

“That – that isn’t promising.”

She ignored him, returning her attention to the rest of the pit with a quiet sigh. “It’s probably a good thing you startled me. I wasn’t getting anything useful anyway.”

“Wait, wait –“ His brain was still catching up. “ _You’re_ a –“

She gave him a curious look. “Homunculus. Yes. Pride didn’t tell you?”

“Mostly it’s been Envy telling me things. And I’m realizing he’s been kind of sparse on details,” he grumbled. “But I – I don’t know, I didn’t –“

“It isn’t a big deal. Really. Here.” She offered him her hand, hauling him up with more strength than he’d expected. “I- What are you doing?”

Alex was prodding her shoulder, then withdrew his hand with a nervous grin. “…Sorry.”

“No, I’m not going to feel any different. Come on. Dante’s waiting for us at the chapel, and I’ll have to explain the gunshots.” She strode off, waiting for him to follow. He took a few steps – then something caught his eye. There was a piece of paper on one of the steps. It was in a patch of broken stone; possibly why Hawkeye had missed it.

He moved towards the broken stair, and picked it up, flipping it over. It was a photograph – an old one, sepia-toned instead of in color, which meant it was at least twenty or thirty years old. In it stood two adults and two children. The woman was Xingese; Alex could tell that much. One of the two kids stood by her skirts – a little girl – and the one in her arms looked like a boy.

He flipped it over again. The yellowed back only had a few words written on it – “Mordred Haberkorn and family; 1887”. Like you’d find in somebody’s collection.

Alex slid it into his pocket. He had no idea who Mordred Haberkorn was; but he was starting to suspect what it was that Hawkeye was looking for. He caught up, and nearly asked if this had anything to do with Lust’s death – something else he’d gotten only sparse details about – but something made him pause, and keep it to himself.

Hawkeye had been a homunculus the whole time. He didn’t know how to process that. He didn’t know what to _do_ with it. The only thing that kept popping up in his head was… unfair. He knew it had to be. But if Dante had had somebody close to the Fuhrer this whole time, why wasn’t he dead already?

 _Calm down. There’s probably a reason – you just don’t know it._ Dante had been so careful to assuage his concerns. And she’d said to keep an eye out for paranoia, hadn’t she? He was jumping at shadows.

Right. Jumping at shadows that the Fuhrer’s bodyguard, the woman who kept him safe, was supposed to be on their side.

The photograph would be his secret for now.

* * *

On July 13th, 1914, William Elric disappeared from the medical records of the Central Hospital. He was recorded as entering Ward One – but Ward One never received him.

On the morning of July 14th, care nurses Patricia Kelly and Carolina Garcia were fired and placed under watch for being the last two staff members to see the wanted criminal.

At 2:00 in the morning, cleaning staff and orderlies reported a thudding noise disturbing patients in the east wing of Ward One. At 3:00, Riza Hawkeye arrived on order from the Fuhrer. It is unknown how she located the disturbance so quickly, but she found an abandoned storage room, and upon opening it, discovered Elric inside. At this time, Elric was transferred to a proper Ward One secured room, and his detached arm placed in the nurse’s office for safekeeping until such a time as he no longer proved a danger to himself. The culprit still has not been identified, and until Elric’s tranquilizers wear off, it is unknown whether this was a deliberate conspiracy escape attempt, or an attempted kidnapping.

Riza Hawkeye ensured that he was secured, and then – according to eyewitness reports who were quickly dispersed – went to the private room where Dr. Holland was sleeping between shifts, woke him up and broke his nose.

Sources are unclear as to why.


	43. Falling Apart in a (Crow)ded Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: hand injury/mutilation, homophobia, drugs, legal….stuff?, implied relationship abuse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …So, er, I am very much not a legal thriller writer, but I had a lot of fun with this! The legal stuff will be continuing for a while, but there’ll be breaks in it, promise.
> 
> Song is by A Skylit Drive.

~43~

_I shouldn't stay but I can't let you go  
We're face to face yet stand alone  
I'm just a slave of a life split in two  
Falling apart in a crowded room_

**_-Falling Apart In A (Crow)ded Room_ **

“Would you care to tell me what on earth was going through your head?”

Pride just glared up at Wrath, who was pacing now. His face didn’t hurt _that_ much anymore. He was just cranky – and homunculus or not, the icepack helped. “Maybe.”

“This isn’t the time to be sarcastic.”

“It’s _always_ the time to be sarcastic-“

“What are you playing at?”

She was fraying a little at the edges; he could tell, because unlike Mustang, he didn’t want compatriots with zero emotion. What he wasn’t sure about was why. He wanted to believe she was in the same boat as him; uncomfortable with the way that Mustang was going about what needed doing, unsure how to address it. But… well, she loved him. Pride didn’t. “You didn’t tell me,” he sighed.

“Tell you what?”

“Don’t play _dumb,_ Riza. It doesn’t suit you. You told me about committing Will. You told me about arresting Valjean. You _didn’t_ tell me you were arresting him for being gay.”

Wrath came to a standstill, not looking at him, her hands squeezing her upper arms. She was in full uniform, because she always was. _Who are you really loyal to?_ he wondered. When it came down to it, was she more loyal to Dante, or to Mustang? For the moment, they had the same goals. He had a feeling that might be changing. “…No.”

“Why?”

“Because Mustang told me not to.”

“Jesus fucking _christ._ ” He dropped the ice pack on the table, resisting the urge to throw it at her instead. “Yeah, because he knew I’d have no fucking patience for it.”

“Tell me, Pride, what’s the difference to you whether or not Jareth Valjean is executed for murder or for homosexuality?”

“ _Homosexuality,_ ” he repeated mockingly. “For one, being gay’s never carried the death penalty. So this is completely unnecessary. If you want him dead, frame him for the murder, carry out the sentence, just get it over and done with. And _secondly,_ ” he added, voice acidic, “I know perfectly well that we aren’t the good guys here, but there is a fucking line.”

“I knew you would say that.”

“Yeah, because I actually have some _standards._ ”

“Are you implying I don’t?”

Pride just snorted. “…I mean, going off your choice of lover-“

Hawkeye hit him. He hadn’t really expected her to; certainly not a direct clock to the side of his head that made his vision spin. He didn’t quite fall off his chair, although he came dangerously close to it. As he tried to get his bearings, wincing as the healing process kicked in, he caught Hawkeye’s expression out of the corner of his eye – pure fury, quickly smoothed over with the same dispassionate look as before.

_I see the anger management is going swimmingly._ He didn’t bother hitting her back. It wouldn’t solve anything, and besides, he was pissed enough that he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold back. The younger homunculi were usually hardier, better-made… but _he_ was the original. A stroke of random chance.

“Once. Just once, I’d like to be able to have a conversation with you without some jab at Mustang,” Hawkeye forced out between gritted teeth.

“Then stop being his lapdog. You wanted Will restrained, where we could keep an eye on him. I did that. I just didn’t think it was necessary to have him treated like shit.”

“You tied him to a _chair._ ”

Pride opened his mouth to protest, then shrugged. That was fair. He’d sort of been making it up as he went. And while he wasn’t really surprised that Will had proceeded to ruin all of his hard work, he _had_ been hoping against hope that maybe the idiot would listen to him.

“I just… don’t understand what you think you solved.”

Pride kept his mouth shut. He couldn’t trust her. He wanted to – he had years and years working against him and trying to tell him that she was trustworthy – but he had to assume that anything he said to her was going to make it to Mustang. The truth was, he didn’t want Will testifying. It was another piece of pointless cruelty, Mustang taking out his revenge in pure sadism. There was a time where he’d have been fine with that. Maybe not _completely_ fine – but still.

When she left, still clearly frustrated and with no answers, he got up, letting himself out of the kitchen that the on-call doctors used during daylight hours. Will’s room was at the far end of the ward, and he let himself in, keys sticking a little in the lock.

It was an improvement in some ways, he could admit. If you ignored that the door locked behind him and the windows had bars over them, it was nearly a normal hospital room. The only other thing giving it away were the leather straps on Will’s ankles and wrist, keeping him tied to the bed.

Pride sighed, leaning against the wall and watching Will sleep. _I hate you,_ he told himself. Except… this was the problem with personas. Worming your way into people’s lives and hearing their deepest fears, their deepest loves. That was the problem. Twenty years ago, he’d have gone along with Mustang’s plan. He wouldn’t have _liked_ it, but humans were responsible for the attitudes encoded into the Wilde Act; there was no point in getting offended about it. Twenty years ago, he hadn’t spent hours in an office with a scared kid.

Will stirred, eyes partially opening but glazed over and indistinct. They’d loaded him with morphine. _Not_ something he would approve of, but he supposed it kept Will tractable. “…You’re here,” he slurred.

“Nah. You’re dreaming.” Probably cruel, but necessary. The less Will could tell people that Dr. Holland kept visiting him, the better.

“Oh.” He squirmed against the restraints. “I don’t like this,” he groaned, almost childlike. “I don’t –“

“It’s okay. Just relax.”

Will ignored him, pulling against the leather with what almost sounded like a whimper. Pride closed his eyes. _Stop it. He’s your enemy._

 _I have standards._ That was what he’d said to Hawkeye.

“I want to go home,” Will murmured, half into the pillow.

Pride glanced at the door, but it was the middle of the night. Other doctors and nurses wouldn’t be here until six at the earliest. It was just the night nurses and orderlies – and him. “I know. I…” He sighed, hating himself, and pulled up the chair. “Soon. I promise.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Will wasn’t going to remember any of this, and if he did, it’d be as a dream. He could say whatever he wanted.

Whatever he wanted, and he was going with being _nice._ Hawkeye was right. He was going soft.

“…I want Alex back,” Will whispered, voice still slurred and indistinct. “I’m – trying. You should tell him that.”

He didn’t have a heart. He didn’t care about anybody but his family. He kept trying to tell himself that, even though he kept remembering the people whose lives he’d ruined, even though he kept questioning every decision he made.

It helped, somehow, that he was still wearing Dr. Holland’s face, not his own. It meant he could tell himself he was lying. “I will. And I know you’re trying.”

“I get so angry at him. And it’s not his fault, it’s _not,_ he hasn’t done anything _wrong,_ I just…” Will pressed his face into the pillow, still moving with obvious discomfort through the cloud of drugs. “You can be… anything you want, right?”

“More or less.”

“What if you wanted to be a girl?” Will whispered, voice so fragile that it sounded like the words would break on contact with the air.

“You should get some sleep.” Pride put his hand over Will’s – then drew it back like he’d been bitten. That wasn’t right. He’d touched Will before, between them fighting and casual gestures as his therapist. It hadn’t felt like that before.

Pride looked at his hand, then at Will. There were still a few red sparks dancing over the surface of his skin, and Will had slid back into unconsciousness… but he hadn’t seemed to notice. _What the hell did you do to yourself?_ And seconds later, with a touch of fury that he’d almost let it slide – _What did you do to Alex?_ Of course Will was doing dangerous shit with alchemy. And he didn’t put it past him to have experimented on someone other than himself.

He got up, letting his instinctive anger carry him – and paused, just for a moment. He probably had been wrong. Will was safer here – and he was sure Alex wasn’t the only person safer with him out of the way.

* * *

Part of her didn’t want to be here at all, but Diana knew she couldn’t do that. She was still trying to figure out how on earth to get Jareth out of trouble. Mustang had told her not even to try. That wasn’t an option.

But…

But she didn’t know _how._

She slouched in her seat in the back of the courtroom. It wasn’t a big room, so she could hear everything from back here – it just was harder for other people to-

“Hello! Is this seat taken?”

Diana raised her head, and resisted the urge to hiss. The woman standing at the edge of the bench was probably around her age, maybe a little younger – certainly not military, if the bob haircut was anything to go by. Behind her, Mustang was giving her a broad smile.

“Diana! I was hoping I’d run into you.”

“Were you?”

“This is Clara Severin,” Mustang continued on, completely unperturbed. “She approached me and asked if she could cover this case for the media. Apparently she’s quite the up and coming journalist.”

“The media?” Diana stared at him. “Court martials are in-camera.”

“Oh, usually, but the world is changing. People are hungry for news, and I suppose it can’t _really_ do any harm, can it?” Mustang looked so goddamn pleased with himself. Diana curled one of her hands into a fist by her side.

“I suppose not.”

“Oh, wonderful. Will you do the honors of being her escort for the day? Just to make sure she doesn’t wander into any gun ranges by mistake.” Before Diana could even answer, Mustang was gone, heading up to his seat in the front row – and Clara shot his retreating back a savage glare, before turning her attention to Diana.

“This is _very_ exciting, you know,” she said breathlessly.

“Is it?” Diana couldn’t work up the energy to even pretend otherwise.

“Oh, yes. The Wilde Act hasn’t been _officially_ invoked against a soldier for… twenty-eight years? Something like that. And this is the first Wilde Act case where the death penalty is even a possibility!” Clara already had her notepad out, eagerly scribbling notes. “History in the making.”

Diana bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

“What’s your connection to the case, ma’am?”

“Colonel.”

“Sorry, Colonel. So what’s your-“

“He’s _my_ lieutenant,” Diana replied coldly. “And that’s all I’m saying to you.”

Clara pouted at her, battering her eyelashes. “I _would_ love a statement…”

“Do you happen to know offhand what the penalty for assaulting a member of the media is?”

Clara shifted uncomfortably. “I’m… not sure…. Why?”

“I want to decide whether or not it’s worth it.”

Clara slid a few inches away from her, and she allowed herself a smile of grim satisfaction.

A stillness settled over the crowd as the doors opened, and the judge walked in, long black robes sweeping the ground behind him. He wasn’t as old as Diana always imagined judges; he was in his fifties or sixties, sure, but still had all of his hair with only a few streaks of grey amid all the brown.

“What’s his name?” Clara whispered. Diana tried not to roll her eyes. Clearly the threat had only worked temporarily.

“Judge Walter Godfrey. He’s been the Judge Advocate General for fifteen years or so.” Which meant he’d been presiding over Kimbley’s trial as well. Lovely.

As Godfrey took his seat, the side doors opened. Diana stuffed her fist against her mouth, trying to keep calm. They’d taken his sunglasses. She wasn’t sure why that leapt out at her so much. Just… all of his life, all the time she’d known him, he’d worn those sunglasses. He only really took them off when he was in bed or at home. Everywhere else, he had them perched on his nose. Now, though, his eyes were completely bare – purple irises on display. Between that and the awful orange jumpsuit, he barely looked like himself.

“Does he have…” Clara leaned forward, and Diana grabbed her shoulder, jerking her back.

“Purple eyes. Yes.”

“ _Fascinating._ I thought only Xingese people had those.”

“And you’d be correct.”

Clara frowned, then turned to Diana. “The Lieutenant is Xingese? But he doesn’t…”

“Quick question, Severin. What do you _think_ Xingese people look like?”

The journalist rubbed the back of her head. “…I mean, I don’t know? Short, black hair, purple slanty eyes, real skinny?”

“Ah, good to know your main source is dime store comics.” She let the ‘slanty’ comment go. For now. Besides, she’d heard it plenty of times before.

Clara just nodded, though, clearly taking in the new information – and to Diana’s admitted amusement, scribbling it down on her notepad. Her handwriting was hard to read, but she caught the word ‘stereotype’ somewhere in there. Then she paused. “…Wouldn’t his name be something different?”

“Ever met anybody called Fan or Wong in the military?”

“I – well, no.” Clara eyed her, clearly looking for clarification, but Diana wasn’t in the mood to give it to her. If anybody had to put up with shit for being Xingese, it shouldn’t be Jareth. She was the one who’d been raised with it.

She closed her eyes, trying to collect herself. She didn’t want Jareth getting _any_ of this. She was the troublemaker, the young hotshot always angling for a promotion. Jareth was just doing his own thing, and supporting her where he could.

The judge, however, didn’t look pleased. “Bailiff, why is the defendant still in handcuffs and prison garb?”

…that was _right._ He wasn’t supposed to still be cuffed, and he was supposed to be in full uniform.

“Um…” The bailiff looked a touch uncomfortable. “We were worried for our safety. Didn’t want to uncuff him.”

The judge turned his gaze to Jareth and raised an eyebrow.

Jareth sighed, sitting down next to Amue Armstrong. “It appears, Your Honor, that the bailiff and his men have decided I’m liable to grab ‘em or something. Wonder where they got _that_ idea,” he added, glaring over at Mustang.

“Grab- oh, for goodness’s sake. I don’t care what the details of this trial. Uncuff him immediately, and tomorrow, I want him in uniform. I’ll be holding _you_ responsible for that, Bailiff.”

“But-“

“But nothing,” Godfrey snapped. “It’s undignified and it’s cruel.”

Diana blinked in surprise as Godfrey crossed his arms and waited for Jareth’s cuffs to come off. She had been expecting much worse after yesterday. It’d been impossible to get a read on Godfrey after the charges had been read out, but it’d been a fairly short day, and a lot of it had been around setting bail. Which, she grumbled, Jareth had _not_ gotten the option for.

“Now. Since we’re all here. Miss Armstrong, I understand that Valjean has entered a plea of not guilty to all charges.”

“That’s correct.”

“Then we’ll continue as normal. Jareth Valjean, you are set to be tried in front of a jury of nine officers, all of whom are within Brigadier-General rank or higher in accordance with the victim of the crime in question. You may be found guilty on some but not all charges, and the penalties for each will be determined at the conclusion of the trial.”

Jareth nodded, looking a little queasy.

“Lieutenant-Colonel Frank Archer is acting as prosecution in this case, with Miss Amue Armstrong as the defendant’s lawyer.” Then Godfrey sat back, looking exhausted. “Let’s get this over with. Archer, your statement.”

Archer cleared his throat and stood up. Great. Now she had to listen to this windbag prattle on about whatever flimsy case he’d built against Jareth. She leaned back against the wall, tuning him out. She still hadn’t gotten any word on Will’s whereabouts.

“…crime of passion against a fellow officer. Jareth Valjean killed this man out of jealousy, misplaced lust and as a cover for his own shame.”

“ _What?_ ” Diana didn’t even realized she’d exclaimed it out loud until the people nearest to her turned their heads.

“Something to add, Colonel?” Archer asked wickedly.

“Only that you’re _insane._ ”

Godfrey banged his gavel in irritation. “Solaris, keep a hold on that tongue of yours. Archer, don’t encourage it.”

Diana eased herself back down, rage still simmering – but she caught Jareth looking back at her, a little grin on his face. That helped. At least, until she remembered what Mustang had told her. Jareth was doomed no matter what. The trial was rigged.

The trial was rigged, but…

She glanced to her right, where Clara was still taking notes. “What paper do you work for?”

“The Central Gazette. I used to work out East, but they transferred me maybe a week or two ago.”

That quickly? How odd.

Archer was almost done. “The witnesses we intend to call will be shared by the prosecution and the defense. As for what they say, it will shape how this trial goes.”

Uh oh. That didn’t sound promising. Usually the lawyers had their own witnesses. And usually the witnesses knew ahead of time what they were going to say. That couldn’t possibly be legal – pulling up witnesses with no preparation. She hoped she’d misunderstood.

Amue Armstrong didn’t look happy as she got to her feet. Granted, she always looked a little angry; but Diana had the sense that things were already not going her way. “Gentlemen of the jury…”

Diana tried not to phase her out too, but it was difficult. She kept trying to think of loopholes, something to work in her defense –

“In order to defend my client, there are certain things that must be spoken out loud. The atrocious behaviour of the prosecution already makes my point for me. This is not a trial about the death of Brigadier-General Hughes, but a vessel for the persecution of non-traditional soldiers. And, gentlemen, I will not mince my words.” Amue rose up to her full height, complete with heels. “When I say non-traditional, I refer to what many of you will call homosexuality, queerness, or other names.”

Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear –

“You entered a not-guilty plea for the Wilde Act,” Archer interrupted. Diana couldn’t see his face, but he sounded peeved.

“That’s correct. Because the Wilde Act covers acts of a homosexual nature between two men.” Amue was _smirking._ “But what the Wilde Act neglects to cover – and what I speak to today – is queerness as an identity that can be perceived and delineated outside of those acts. The Wilde Act doesn’t make _being_ queer illegal. It simply punishes anybody of that identity who acts on their desires, even consensually. Jareth Valjean is not guilty of a single thing on the list of charges, but in particular, I urge the jury to consider if the sexual history of, say, a married man with no rumours clinging to him, would be as easily presented as evidence.”

Oh.

Oh, wow.

She sort of felt like she couldn’t breathe. Also, she might kill Jareth herself. Amue was the one who’d written the speech, but it had him written _all_ over it. They were going to have to prove that he’d actually broken the Wilde Act itself, instead of leaning on assumptions based on how he looked and acted. And even more, Amue had said the quiet part out loud – that this had rapidly become a trial about queerness rather than a murder trial.

“Brigadier-General Hughes was a good man, and a good father. Let us do him the respect, then, of finding his murderer without the sham and indignity that underlies this circus of a trial from the very beginning.”

Diana chewed on the inside of her cheek. This was _risky._ This was unbelievably, horrifyingly risky. Usually, she’d be on board, but –

_I almost lost him. I came so damn close. I’m not going through that again._

“Can… can she _do_ that?” Clara asked, looking about as stunned as Diana felt. “I mean, she just did. But can she?”

“I’m… not sure. Only the Fuhrer has the authority to strike down laws completely. But she’s both challenging the law while asserting that it doesn’t _apply._ And certainly any authorized lawyer can challenge a law and hope the Fuhrer listens, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

“You know a lot about this.”

Diana didn’t bother answering. Her ambitions weren’t _that_ secret within the military, but she wasn’t giving a vulture like Clara anything more to work with. It’d been after Kimbley’s trial that she had actually gone through the legal regulations around how to _change_ laws. Not because Kimbley would have been saved from prison or anything like that; as far as she was concerned, he _should_ have been executed. Just because she wanted to understand.

Then she glanced over at Clara. Maybe vulture was unfair. Who knew? “…Are you aware of _why_ the Wilde Law isn’t enforced?”

“I have my suspicions, but I don’t actually _know._ I guess gay men are rare in the military?”

Diana managed to stifle the bitter laugh. “The opposite, actually.”

“ _Really._ ”

“Severin, if you want to cover this case, you really need to do some more research.”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?”

She glared at her again. But she couldn’t do this on her own. She _couldn’t._ “The Wilde Act is the official law. It governs both military and non-military individuals. But within the military itself, there’s an unspoken corollary to it. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Officers look the other way, and queer folks don’t… well, shove it in their faces. As much as I hate that phrasing.”

“So he’s getting singled out.”

“Exactly.”

The whole courtroom was reacting in their own ways to Amue’s opening statement. Diana glanced around, trying to get a read. Mustang looked as smug as ever. Next to him was –

Her mouth went dry. She hadn’t _noticed_ before. But Dr. Holland was seated on the same front bench as the Fuhrer. She couldn’t be _completely_ sure – she hadn’t interacted with the man much – but it looked like him.

Godfrey rolled his eyes and banged his gavel again. “Order, please. Miss Armstrong, are you sure you want to continue with this course of action?”

“Certainly.”

“This is _rubbish,_ ” Archer scoffed. “This is a court martial, not a dog and pony show-“

“Rich words from the prosecution,” Amue replied, inspecting her nails.

“-and I won’t be insulted by a half-bit floozy!”

The courtroom went silent. Diana couldn’t help the smirk.

Amue took a few steps closer to him. Not close enough to constitute a real threat; just close enough for Archer to quail under her size. “The name is _Armstrong,_ Lieutenant-Colonel. Amue Armstrong. If you have an issue with my behaviour, please feel free to take it up with my father.”

“I may very well do so,” he spat.

“This method of representation is a form of the tactics passed down the Armstrong line for _generations,_ Lieutenant-Colonel. If you’d like to call me a floozy again, be my guest, but I suggest you come up with a better strategy.”

“Is she… sparkling?” Clara asked in bemusement.

“She’s an Armstrong. You get used to it.”

Godfrey was enjoying the show, it appeared. He let Archer back off, clearly cowed, before he continued. “The witness list is shared between the prosecution and the defense. In order to maintain pure testimony free of coaching, _both_ of you are prohibited from making contact with the witnesses prior to them taking a stand.”

“Objection,” Amue called out. “This is _highly_ irregular.”

“I’m afraid it’s an exception for this trial that’s been put in place by executive order.” Godfrey didn’t look any more pleased with it than Amue – or Diana – was. “There are apparently particular concerns regarding the political context of this case.”

Well, that explained at least in part why Archer would take such an abysmal approach to the case. A normal murder trial wouldn’t have been able to pull that – at least not without a lot more suspicion. The other reason was probably simply that there was no _actual_ proof tying Jareth to Maes’s murder. The sensationalist angle was designed to cover up the obvious holes. At least she had heard Amue’s opening statements, though. It meant Diana herself could do some of the work of making sure people knew what to say.

Godfrey picked up the piece of paper in front of him. “It appears Major Elric has been found safe, but due to the circumstances, he won’t be called up for a few days yet. I-“

Diana didn’t even realize she’d stood up again, until Godfrey made eye contact with her. “Colonel Solaris? Is there a problem?”

“I wasn’t informed.” She bit back what she wanted to ask – _are you sure he’s alright –_ “Forgive me, Your Honor, but I think it’s _also_ highly irregular for you to hear about my subordinate’s condition before I do.”

Archer turned to look at her, contempt written clearly on his face – but Godfrey interrupted. “I wasn’t aware. Archer, next time you find a missing soldier, you inform his CO _first._ Understood?”

“…Understood, Your Honor.”

“With that in mind, Colonel Solaris will also not be called on right away. Let’s start tomorrow with Private Sheska Thomas, Master Sergeant Kain Fuery, Second Lieutenant Heymans Breda and Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc. Additionally, Miss Armstrong has requested a ballistics expert.”

Five witnesses. That was going to be a long day. _Mustang will be occupied. Maybe I can talk to Will without him there._

“Trial’s adjourned for the day. Miss Armstrong, Lieutenant-Colonel, my office, please. And Bailiff, I expect the defendant in _full uniform_ tomorrow.”

People started flocking out of the courtroom. Diana stayed seated – and to her surprise, so did Clara. She leaned in. “Is there any chance I can talk to Major Elric?” she asked, voice oddly cautious.

“Absolutely not. He’s in no state for visitors, and certainly not interrogation by the media.”

“You’re more antagonistic towards the idea of news coverage than I expected.”

“Because I have no expectation that either you or your readers will treat the Lieutenant fairly – let alone the other witnesses.”

Clara gave Diana a small smile, a glint of _something_ in her eyes. “You may be surprised, Colonel.”

“Then surprise me. Until then, you leave my unit in peace or I’ll be the next one court martialed.” She’d meant it as a quip on her earlier threat – but the moment it left her mouth, she realized what she’d admitted to. Perhaps not outright, but Clara was clever.

However, Clara didn’t write anything down, tucking her notepad back into her purse and her pen into her breast pocket. “I hope not. Orange is _not_ your color.”

“ _You-_ “

But Clara had gotten up and departed with the crowd. Before long, the only people left in the courtroom were her, Mustang, Hawkeye… and Dr. Holland.

Shit.

She’d miscalculated.

She got up, trying to slide out of the doors –

“Leaving so quickly?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “No, sir.”

“Come on up here. There’s somebody I’d like you to meet.”

Diana forced herself to turn around and advance _up_ the aisle. “Dr. Holland and I have met before, sir. He’s Will’s psychiatrist.”

“Ah, that’s true. I wasn’t sure if you’d actually made his acquaintance.”

Dr. Holland shot Mustang a sour look. “He’s going senile, apparently.”

Mustang narrowed his eyes back at him, before putting his usual smile back on. “I apologize that you weren’t informed about Will. It was last night, you see – very early in the morning. Dr. Holland didn’t want to wake you.”

Diana tried to stay stern, but she _couldn’t._ There was every chance this was a lie, too. What if Dr. Holland was just going to take Will’s shape to testify? She _had_ to see him. “Is he alright?”

“He’s fine,” Dr. Holland interrupted before Mustang could reply. “He’s a little dehydrated, and clearly there’s been a lot of stress on his system lately, but it’s nothing serious. Essentially, he needs to sleep.”

“Well, in that case, maybe you shouldn’t bother him-“ Mustang said to Diana, but Dr. Holland interrupted again.

“ _I_ think it would do wonders for his mental condition to see a familiar face. With supervision, of course. He _is_ dangerous.”

Mustang glared coldly at Dr. Holland some more. Diana couldn’t make out what was happening. She’d been under the impression that the homunculi were a singular cult, but unless there really _was_ an actual Dr. Holland who’d been hiding away all this time, these two seemed to be at cross-purposes. It took either great courage or great insanity to speak back to the Fuhrer like that – and she had to suppress a smile as a memory came to mind. Blurry, out-of-focus, but she recalled Will trying to shout something at Mustang after their duel.

“Alright, _alright,_ ” Mustang caved, holding up his hands in clear annoyance. “But I insist on supervising. The Colonel’s perfectly capable of taking care of herself, I know, but it will mean I rest easy. How about tomorrow morning, Diana?”

“That sounds perfect,” she said, trying to sound at least a _little_ excited. Or at least like she didn’t want to rip his head off.

“Sir, you have a meeting with the Generals,” Hawkeye said quietly.

“That’s right. I’ll be off, then. Dr. Holland, if you could escort the Colonel back to her home for me?”

“As you wish,” the doctor replied, sitting back on the bench with his arms crossed and one leg resting on the other.

Mustang didn’t react to that one. But Hawkeye did, giving him a warning glare before she left with the Fuhrer. _Interesting._ One way or another, Dr. Holland had made himself unpopular with the higher-ups.

Once they were alone, Dr. Holland stood up, dusting off his corduroy trousers. “Just go home, honestly. He’s not gonna check, and the last thing I want is-“

Diana grabbed him by the collar of his white coat, slamming him back down onto the bench with her knee raised between his legs and two handfuls of fabric. “Talk. Now.”

“… _that,_ ” he grumbled. “Don’t waste your time.”

“I haven’t _got_ any time to waste. Talk, or I will singe you to a crisp just like I did your friend.”

“Good god, you’re terrifying.”

“ _Desperate times, Holland._ Now _talk._ ”

“About _what?_ ” he replied, clearly more annoyed than scared. “Usually interrogations come with questions, Col- _oof!_ ”

She pulled her knee back, enjoying the look on his face more than she should have. “That was your stomach. I’ll aim lower on the next one.”

“A little childish, don’t you think?” he groaned, hands still by his sides. She’d expected him to fight back, but she supposed it was a good thing he hadn’t. She’d seen what he’d done to Will – _both_ times.

“Let’s start with seeing your real face.”

“Why is that the first thing everybody asks the shapeshifter? You’d think it’d stop being relevant-“

“ _Now._ ”

Dr. Holland – Pride, she supposed - sighed and shifted in her hands. The white coat she’d been grabbing turned into handfuls of thin, black fabric, his glasses disappeared, and his salt-and-pepper hair sprouted, turning into waves of gold.

Diana tried not to react, but she found herself frozen for a moment. Then, she growled, pushing the teenage boy back onto the bench. “Nice try. I won’t hesitate to beat the crap out of you just because you look like Will.”

“…You know, I can see how you’d come to that conclusion.” Without any other clarification, he returned her steady gaze, golden eyes almost mocking. Then he reached up with both hands and pulled her hands away like they were nothing more than pieces of lint. She winced, bones cracking slightly in her fingers before she retrieved them. “I wasn’t lying, by the way. The tykebomb is just fine, ridiculous amounts of coke in his bloodstream aside-“

“ _Cocaine?_ ” 

“Before you decide to hit me again,” he grouched, “I had nothing to do with that. He makes his bad decisions _all_ on his own, thank you very much.”

That… did sound like Will. She’d never thought to worry about him and stimulants before but it fit the profile. “But he’s safe.”

“…He _was_ safe,” Dr. Holland admitted. “Now that he’s back in the system, I can’t guarantee anything.”

“It was you. You’re the one who kidnapped him.”

“For a grand total of a day and a half, but sure, let’s call it that.”

“ _Why?_ ”

Pride slouched back on the bench again. “I am a therapist, you know.”

“A fake one.”

“No, really. I’m certified and everything.” At her skeptical glance, he shrugged. “Being immortal gets dull, alright?”

“And I’m supposed to believe that you have Will’s safety in mind?”

“Oh, definitely not.” He grimaced. “I don’t care if he starves himself to death. No, I just like fucking with Mustang.”

Diana curled her fingers into a fist. She was officially tired of being a chess piece, shoved around and manipulated at the whims of others, and Dr. Holland was just more of the same. “One of you framed him.”

“It wasn’t _hard.”_

“And Jareth, too?”

“Well, yeah. Again. Not hard.”

She felt frustrated tears springing to her eyes and forced them back. “Kidnapping Alex wasn’t enough for you. You had to screw up the rest of our lives as well.”

Pride got to his feet, stretching his arms above his head. It really was distracting looking at him in this shape. He was _maybe_ nineteen if he was a day, with the same graceful, coiled menace that Lust had possessed, but less obviously sadistic. He hadn’t hit her back, not even once. She didn’t take that as a sign of goodness, though – it meant he was quite comfortable with the power he had over her. “Diana, your entire life has been at Mustang’s whim whether you knew it or not.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fine. _Colonel._ But he could take your rank with a snap of his fingers. He can do to you what he’s doing to Jareth. Hell, it was his call whether or not to execute you and Valjean along with the rest of Black Ops. You survived because he said so.”

“I’ve made my choices.”

“Sure. You killed my best friend. That was a choice.”

Her mouth went dry again. Fuck. She’d assumed – oh, she didn’t know why. With how much Mustang and Pride clearly hated each other, she had imagined Lust had been friends with Mustang, but – “You wouldn’t have helped us even if I _hadn’t._ ”

“Oh, probably not. But…” He gave her a small smile – and suddenly, her legs had caved from beneath her, powerful kick toppling her to the ground. She hit the ground and rolled onto her back, but Pride’s foot slammed into her sternum, pinning her to the ground. There was a flash of metal, and Diana was only able to take in the half-moon blade above her before the end of it sharpened – and slammed into her hand.

“See, it’s _personal_ this time.” Pride put some more of his weight on the stake, sharp point working its way through the tendons and bones of her hand. “I’m not on your side just because I’m not on Mustang’s either. The real reason I hate all of this manipulative shit is because I like the direct approach.” He leaned down. “So. If Mustang’s way doesn’t work, then I’ll kill you myself.”

He pulled the stake free of her hand, and she pulled it close to her chest, biting down on her tongue to stop herself from screaming as tears of pain clouded her vision. _Her hand._ Why her hand?

Because the fucker had talked to Kimbley.

“I’m not letting you win,” she forced out between her gritted teeth.

“This isn’t a game of who can be more badass. You already lost. Stop trying to fix it.” Pride shifted back into Dr. Holland’s form, scythe vanishing back into his arm. “We all lose people. You’re not special. And you’re alive, aren’t you? Count your mercies.”

At least she was alive? That was his great message? She might as well not be, without Jareth and Maes; it was pathetic, and she knew that, but she already felt like she was struggling for breath with one of them gone. “…Who killed Maes Hughes?”

“Me, obviously. I thought you would have figured out that part.”

She tried to will herself to get up, to use her good hand and envelop him in flame. But she couldn’t. Instead, she stayed on the ground, trying to stem the bleeding, as she watched him leave.

_Get up,_ she urged. _Don’t let him go._ But it was too late.


	44. Transylvania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: attempted suicide*, ableism/sanism, anti-Rromany racism referenced, unreality, psychosis, violence, captivity.
> 
> *I REALLY want to emphasis the attempted here. I promise the character in question is okay. I could not make myself go through with it! (Also, like I said, I don’t actually want any deaths from this storyline, at least as direct results of the bigotry.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is by McFly.
> 
> Konata (ko-NA-ta) means ‘known’ in Esperanto, and is pluralized as Konataj (KON-a-tie), with adjective form Konatač. (KON-a-tatch)

~44~

_Who is your lover? I couldn’t tell  
When hell freezes over, that’s when I’ll tell  
Who is your lover? I couldn’t tell, when will this stop?  
we’re sorry but your majesty  
the boy is vermin, can’t you see  
we’ll drown his sins in misery  
and rip him out of history_

_- **Transylvania**_

There were a lot of things people didn’t know about ciganoj. For starters, people usually called them ciganos, butchering it into an Amestrian word. It made Maes wince every time he heard it. The other thing was that _cigano_ was, honestly, kind of a rude word. It wasn’t terrible; he’d been accused of having fleas or being a thief enough times that the word _cigano_ just became a handy descriptor. The four groups had plenty in common, but their own word – _Konataj_ – had gotten used less and less.

The other thing about ciganoj, or Konataj, or whatever you wanted to call them, was that not _all_ of the accusations of thievery and fortune-telling were wrong. Obviously, if gadjos brought it up, Maes would insist that he was the pinnacle of good citizenry. But his first way of providing for his family had been pickpocketing, and locks had been the obvious next step.

Maes kept checking the door. The problem was that Pride didn’t have a regular schedule. He mostly showed up whenever he felt like it, and kept him… _mostly_ fed. Honestly, he suspected that Pride wasn’t trying to psych him out or anything like that, and simply just forgot that humans needed to eat sometimes, but it would be _insanely stupid_ to take the young mask at face value. Still, Pride got careless when he was angry. That was how Maes had managed to get the fork.

“Come on,” he whispered. “I’m gonna miss my kid’s birthday at this rate.”

With a click, the manacles finally gave way. Thank _god._ The lock on the door was going to be easier for sure. No awkward twisting required. He still approached it carefully, the twisted metal of the fork in his hand held up just in case the door opened on him. No sign of movement. He was good to go.

He wasn’t sure what he’d be returning to, even if he made it out of here. A month or two wasn’t that long in the grand scheme of things, but Pride had been clear on one thing – the world outside thought he was dead.

Maes sighed, hesitating with his work long enough to lean his head against the metal door. He’d just been at the _library._ Elysia was so young, she might not even understand what had happened, but Gracia…

_If I make it out of here, we’re having more kids. I’ll deal with it, but I want a big family. At least a sibling for Elysia._ He paused, then changed the phrase. _When I make it out of here._ Pride couldn’t keep him locked up forever.

There was a click, and Maes held his breath, testing the door. It swung open, and he let the breath hiss out through his mouth. Thank god. He’d been ready to chew himself out of the manacles.

There was light outside the door. On the upside, that meant he’d be able to navigate. But it also made him _visible._ Slowly, holding his breath again and crouching close to the floor, he pushed the door open inch by inch and indexed what he could see.

Burnished wood floor. The same as inside this cell, just slightly better kept, although there were planks missing and others starting to curl upwards at the edges. Other doors much like this one – which was a little worrying – but no sign of activity around them. Maes thought he could see dust on some of the handles, actually, which seemed like a _good_ thing. The light outside came from somewhere high up, and still moving carefully, Maes slid out of the cell doorway, looking upwards with a hand to shade his eyes. The ceiling of the prison area had rotted or broken away, and there was obvious crawlspace between it and the floor above before the floor itself showed its jagged edges. Through the hole, he could just make out the outline of a chandelier high above it all.

Maes slid the fork into his sleeve, gently eased the cell door shut, and forced his heartbeat to slow with a few deep breaths. Alright. So he was in a probably-abandoned building. Where exactly he was beyond that, he had no idea.

He grimaced, rotating his shoulder a few times. The bullet-wound had mostly healed, but it still hurt. He just counted himself lucky that Pride had decided not to kill him. A bit of discomfort seemed a small price to pay for that. Then he looked around for a door or stairs, anything that would get him away from the cell block, or whatever it was.

-There. To his right. He opened the wooden door, and looked up and down the narrow stairs, before he made his way up them.

“Oh, Pride isn’t going to be happy.”

He swivelled around, halfway up the steps. The little girl had _definitely_ not been there a moment ago. She leaned against the wall of the landing, giving him a curious look. “You broke yourself out. Clever.” She sauntered towards him – then stopped when he held out the fork.

“Don’t think I’m stupid enough to take you at face value,” he warned.

“…Hm. You’re _too_ clever.” She gave him a sweet smile. “Well then, clever clogs, are you _sure_ you want to leave?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, haven’t you been looking for Alex Elric?”

Maes froze. He didn’t want to say _yes,_ because this could still be a trick – but Will had said as much, hadn’t he? Pride hadn’t mentioned Alex once, and Maes had almost convinced himself that Alex was somewhere else entirely, that Pride had just been messing with Will’s head. “Where is he?” he said after a moment, trying to make his heartbeat slow.

“He’s perfectly safe! Don’t worry! But…” The little girl pressed a hand to her cheek, looking ever so innocent. “That could change.”

Fuck.

_There’s every chance she’s lying. None of those other cells are in use._ He sighed, relaxing his shoulders and trying to look like he was ready to hand himself over –

-And then he turned, and fled.

* * *

_Will._

Everything was hazy. Nothing linked to each other. First there was one person with him, then two, and then nobody. Needles in his arms. Arm. Just one.

_Will. Can you hear me?_

Voices in his head. He was used to that. He didn’t listen to them.

_Will, it’s me._

Don’t listen to them. They’re lying to you.

His arm. He pretended so well to be a normal person – no, that wasn’t right. But he cloaked. He shielded. He needed his arm for that. He wanted to pretend he was whole.

_Will, please._

And then, like magic, the haze began to clear. Not entirely. He still couldn’t quite think in a straight line. But he remembered. He remembered –

_Selim,_ he exhaled, or wanted to, but his mouth felt like it was sealed shut. The morphine wasn’t helping with the hallucinations. They just kept coming and going. He hadn’t had an episode this bad since –

- **DIE DIE DIE-**

-since Tucker. He’d lied. He’d told so many people he didn’t mean to. He’d practiced it in his mouth until it felt right. Better that than admit that deep in it, deep in the state of mind he barely remembered, he’d known _exactly_ what he was doing.

_I don’t think that’s true._

Selim again. _What are you doing?_ he asked.

_I – think I figured out how to take on some of the effects on purpose. It’s not like the other one, is it?_ Selim’s thoughts were almost as cloaked in cotton as his were. _I can’t take anything else, though. Just the morphine._

Shit. Selim was trying to clear his head for him. _It’s not safe-_

_It’s fine. I’ve got Pinako and Dad here with me. Pinako’s keeping an eye on things._

Will suddenly felt the urge to laugh. He really hadn’t thought King was going to _believe_ Selim. But he supposed it wasn’t the strangest thing Will had been responsible for. But – yeah, okay, this worked. He didn’t like it. But it worked.

_How are you feeling?_

 _You don’t have to ask me that,_ Will complained. _You can tell just fine._

_…Yeah, but… I still wanted to ask._

He tried to lift his arm, but it wouldn’t move more than a few inches. He was tied down. Leather this time instead of metal. At least that was a nice change. His legs, too. And his other arm was…

Right.

_Will, talk to me?_

He couldn’t. He knew the miasma of his thoughts was probably hard enough to deal with. And –

He didn’t really remember how he’d gotten here. He remembered knocking over the chair he was tied to. He remembered slamming his feet against the door. He remembered –

_Hawkeye. The woman who guards the Fuhrer._

Remembered her. Past that – nothing.

Solaris. He still hadn’t seen Solaris. He might as well face it. She probably thought he belonged here. She wasn’t entirely wrong.

It had been _so long_ since the hallucinations had been this bad.

His line of sight shifted. Suddenly he could see King and Pinako, staring at him (not him) with deep concern. “Are you sure this is safe?”

“I – well, I don’t really know. But I think it’s just the mental thing? I don’t _think_ there are any drugs in my bloodstream.”

“This has Hohenheim written all over it,” Pinako grumbled. “This kind of alchemy stinks of him.”

“I thought you liked him?” King asked.

“I mean, I did until he ran off on his family. But there’s no avoidin’ he was a bit of a nutcase.”

Nutcase. Haha. Maybe that was where Will had gotten it. Selim didn’t seem to know he was listening. That was strange.

”He’s not really responding to me,” Selim said sadly.

_I’m trying,_ Will tried to say, or think, but the words kept interrupting each other, layered over each other. He hated this.

“Where is it he’s being held?”

“Central Hospital, Ward One.”

“Ooh.” Pinako grimaced. “That’s not good.”

“What? Why?”

“Ward One’s where they keep the dangerous ones. The criminally insane, I think is what they call it. I don’t know what that scumbag Fuhrer is thinking, putting him in there. He doesn’t belong there.”

_I don’t belong anywhere,_ Will almost laughed. He belonged here just as much as Kimbley probably did. He wasn’t even human. He didn’t feel human. Humans didn’t see themselves as monsters and almost like that more.

“Dad, isn’t there – isn’t there _something_ you can do? Falman?”

Falman and King looked at each other. “If it wasn’t the Fuhrer,” Falman said anxiously. “But I’m not sure there’s enough favours in the world to get him out of there.”

“This’d be hard enough with a sane person,” Pinako sighed. “It’s a _beast_ of a task when you’re talkin’ about somebody with real problems.”

“But they don’t care!” Selim’s voice broke a little. “Will’s been out of it, but he’s been awake, which – you should _hear_ how they talk about him, Dad, it’s awful! Nobody’s actually trying to _help!_ ”

Will closed his eyes. Selim sounded so hurt. There wasn’t enough help in the world to fix him. He’d accepted that a long time ago. He’d just thought he could _hide_ it. Function anyway.

Somebody was holding his hand. It stirred a ghost of a memory. He cracked his eyes back open, looking at Trisha through the haze of his eyelashes. “Mom.”

Trisha smiled weakly. “It’s going to be okay, honey. Just… be patient.”

“You’re just…” he licked his lips, “saying that because you’re supposed to.”

“Somebody should, shouldn’t they?”

“I killed you.”

“Nonsense. You don’t still believe that, do you?”

He shrugged. It was hard to convince himself otherwise. Human transmutation was supposed to be impossible. He should have been able to tell himself that there was never a chance. But…

But he was supposed to be _better._ He was smart enough to pass the State Alchemist exam at twelve. He still couldn’t fix what he’d broken.

There were voices again. Not in his head. Outside. Will struggled, trying to sit up. He could _almost_ do it. _Please, please, I need to be able to think –_

And following on the heels of the thought, _why?_

No. Fuck that. He wasn’t that far gone yet. He squeezed his hand until his nails cut into his palm. _You’re not allowed to fucking die. You’ll end up dragging Selim with you. And you have a promise to keep._ Alex. Alex was in trouble. Alex needed him.

_Of course he doesn’t need you. He said as much._

For a moment, Will had thought it was Selim, but it didn’t sound like him. It was just his own thoughts, pulling him down under the surface again.

Think. Right before the transmutation. Before you bullied him into it (was it that simple? Izumi didn’t think so-).

_look what I can do_

Alex probably didn’t remember. It hadn’t even been that much of a big deal. But he’d managed to push a late tree into blooming. Little tricks. He’d gotten all the cherry blossoms in his hair, and Will had snorted and helped him brush them out. Thick hair, not like Will’s – like Trisha’s, dense and wavy and full of life.

The door opened. Will took a deep breath and tried to clear away the debris.

Diana sagged in relief – a small gesture, in the fall of her shoulders, in the soft smile. “Thank goodness.”

“As you can see, he’s rather out of it. According to Kimbley, he’s been like this since he came back from Forcett.”

“And you trust Kimbley’s testimony.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

Diana stood next to the bedside, her hand sliding forward to brush against Will’s fingers. “I don’t understand why you would pardon him.”

“Oh, nothing he’s done is really worse than what’s in your own ledger, is it?”

Bastard. Will felt Diana’s fingers tense and pull back. They kept talking like he wasn’t there. He tried to sit up again. “Kimbley can suck my dick,” he growled, and his voice was so much more raspy than he thought it was going to be.

Mustang chuckled. “It appears he can speak again, at least.”

“Never stopped,” Will replied, but that wasn’t entirely true. Even speaking now felt… wrong. Words too big for his mouth. “Where’s Jareth?”

“ _Jareth?_ My, my. I didn’t know the Lieutenant and Fullmetal were on first name basis.”

“They usually aren’t, but we’re fairly lax with Fullmetal.”

“Because of his condition?”

“Because he’s a _child,_ sir.”

Stop calling me a child, he wanted to complain. But the words kept getting muddled up in his head. Wouldn’t come out in the right order.

“Sir, could I have a moment alone with him?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Mustang warned, voice stony.

“Fuhrer Mustang, _sir,_ I doubt Kimbley’s version of events considering his history, and Fullmetal has clearly been through something traumatic. I don’t think you staring him down is helping!”

“I’ve let you have plenty of slack, Diana. I’ll watch from the door. Happy?”

She wasn’t, clearly. Neither was Will. He knew the Colonel well enough to know when something was wrong. She hadn’t answered where Jareth was. But Mustang backed off to the door, and Diana shifted, ever so slightly, hiding her lips from Mustang.

“I need your help,” she mouthed in barely a whisper. Then she said out loud, to cover it, “You’ve been called to testify at trial, Will. Are you up for it?”

Up for what? “I… don’t understand. What trial?” He couldn’t be going on trial for the murders of the soldiers in Forcett already.

Diana glanced back at Mustang. “Valjean is being court martialed for the death of M- Maes Hughes.” She stuttered slightly over the name.

What?

_What?_

He jerked against the restraints. “He’s not _dead._ I –“ Then he paused. He hadn’t heard a damn thing from Solaris since he’d left. “How long?” he hissed.

“…A little over a month,” she replied.

Maes had died just after he’d left. All this time. All this time, he’d been trusting her. And she’d _hidden_ it from him, right before sending a State Alchemist to report on her. “What is wrong with you?”

“Will, please, I-“

“ _Why wouldn’t you tell me?”_

“Will, don’t get agitated-“

Before he could say anything else, Mustang had cut between him and Diana, shoving him back down onto the bed with surprising strength. The hand on his shoulder was almost bruising him. “I was worried about this _exact_ thing, Diana. He’s insane.”

“He’s not usually this-“

“This bad? Is that what you were going to say?” Mustang cut her off. “If you’re trying to tell me that I should be fine with your life being threatened because it’s an _uncommon occurrence,_ then that says a lot on its own.”

Will wanted Diana to defend him, to say something else. But she simply lowered her eyes, nodding. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“If you still want him to testify, then I’m sure we can manage _something._ I’m just not sure how useful it’ll be.”

“You’re right. At least now he knows, sir. He can tell us himself if he’s up for it – when he’s calmed down a little.”

Will bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood. He shouldn’t hurt himself more. He knew that. But –

_They’re claiming the Lieutenant killed Hughes?_ came Selim’s horrified voice. _That’s impossible._

He was probably hallucinating. He’d been so desperate for Solaris to show up, thinking she would free him, take him out of here –

Mustang walked away, and Diana gave his retreating back a quick look before sliding… _something_ under Will’s pillow. Then she, too, turned away. So much for comfort. So much for a way out.

_Will –_

Jareth wouldn’t. Not his best friend. He _wouldn’t._ So he was imagining this. Just like with everything else. Maybe he’d wake up and still be at Izumi’s. Maybe he’d wake up with all his limbs.

_Will, I heard it too._

No. No, he wanted it to be a lie –

_“STOP IT.”_

Will paused, and realized a few things at once. One, his heart was hammering against his ribs, and he was breathing faster than he’d thought. Two, Selim had _yelled_ at him. Out loud.

“What do you suggest I do then?” he mumbled.

“I don’t – I don’t know. But convincing yourself that your life isn’t real seems like a bad idea.”

He’d already come half-convinced. But Selim… had a point. “I can’t do anything. I can’t do anything without my arm.”

“So let’s figure out how to get it.”

Selim sounded so _determined._ Will switched back to internal. _Okay, and then what?_

“You break out.”

_And have the whole military after me. I’m accused of killing at least twenty soldiers, Selim. They’re not gonna let me go that easy._

Selim subsided into silence for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Will could feel it in streaks of almost-pain on the inside of his mouth. He didn’t _mind._ It was just strange. “Something’s clearly going on. I don’t really know the Colonel well but she’s – I mean, if she could’ve, she’d have gotten you out of here right away.”

_The Colonel is also who cleared me first getting jabbed with morphine mid-episode._

“To stop you from _shooting yourself,_ ” Selim shot back – then covered his mouth.

Great. Now King and Pinako were looking even more concerned. It was almost funny. _I’d offer a comforting lie for them but I got nothing. Fine. If I’m such a danger, maybe I should be in here._

“And then what? You leave Alex with whatever creeps manipulated him? You abandon the Colonel?”

_She abandoned ME._

“She had the Fuhrer over her shoulder, Will. I don’t think –“ Selim cut himself off. “Isn’t it more likely that she _couldn’t_ do anything? Just like you?”

…That did make him pause. He kept falling into the same trap as always – seeing Solaris as infinitely capable, infallible, doing everything with purpose. But that wasn’t true. She was smart, and savvy, but she wasn’t infallible. When they’d fought, she hadn’t been herself. And afterwards, she’d tried to overcorrect. She was – well, _human._

_I have to get more information. Somehow._

He felt the grin on Selim’s face. “Testify at the trial.”

_What?_

“You heard me. That’s how you’re gonna know what’s at stake. You just have to –“ Selim hesitated. “Well, uh, you have to pass for not crazy.”

_I’m not sure I have it in me._ It was more vulnerable than he usually admitted to. He didn’t like actually saying out loud how little control he had.

“Do you think I can help?”

_Maybe?_ Yes, actually. _I need you to be with me. Tell me what to say. You already know what I’m thinking. I need you to – to translate it. Make it sound right._

“I can do that. The next orderly that comes in, tell them that you’re sorry, you’ve calmed down – oh, don’t _bristle_ like that, Will! You know it’ll help.”

_I know,_ he grumbled. That didn’t mean he liked it.

“Going off the schedule I’ve seen, you’ve got two hours. I have to rest or something, so I won’t be – uh, actively around? I guess? But try to sleep, okay?”

Right. That wasn’t going to happen. But…

He curled against the pillow. Selim was by his side, and he wasn’t going anywhere. He kept doubting it, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But he wasn’t alone.

* * *

Jareth had expected jail to be awful. That hadn’t surprised him. But the part that he’d been… not exactly _shocked_ by, but tremendously disappointed by, was how much the bailiff and the guards seemed to glory in having power over him.

He prodded at the bruise on his jaw, wincing. Cowards. None of them would have even be able to get near him if he wasn’t cuffed.

“What happened?”

Amue was here. Lovely. “Oh, uh…”

She let herself into the cell. “Tell me the truth.”

Stupid fucking lawyers. He wasn’t sure he had the stomach for the whole truth – that one of the guards had whispered a threat in his ear, and that he’d lashed out and gotten the punch in response. _That_ much was bad enough. The threat itself…

_‘Bout time somebody made a girl out of you._

Assholes. It shouldn’t be getting to him. But he hadn’t been able to sleep a wink, constantly listening for the jangle of keys. This was why Archer had gotten his bail denied. He was trying to punish him.

“One of the guards got a bit handsy,” Jareth sighed. “I don’t take well to strangers getting familiar.”

“So you hit him, and he hit you.”

“Yep.”

“That’s all?”

“Nah, I’m starting fights for fun while on death row,” he snapped.

Amue crossed her arms, unimpressed. “You’re not on death row. But I believe you. You don’t have to be so defensive.”

“Being called a fag every two minutes is liable to make _anybody_ a bit jumpy.”

Amue didn’t look any more surprised than he’d been, but just as disappointed. “I see. I suppose it was too much to ask them to keep a civil tongue. Come on. We’re due back in court.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Your uniform’s here. I’ll be outside.”

At least he’d feel a little more like himself. He waited until she’d ducked back outside of the cell door, bars closing behind her. Then he sat down, pulling the tank top out of the stack of clothes and shrugging it over his head. The jacket came next –

There was something in the breast pocket. Jareth glanced quickly outside, but Amue was alone. No guards or anything. He opened the little piece of paper.

_I love you. -S_

Oh.

He felt his cheeks light up, and tucked it back into his jacket pocket, unable to stop the embarrassed grin from spreading over his face. He wasn’t sure he _deserved_ Sheska. But damn if he wasn’t glad he had her.

He just wished… oh, it wasn’t her fault. He hadn’t heard from Diana at all. He’d seen her, steely-faced in the back row. But he would have killed for just a moment with her.

* * *

Alex had been pleased to discover that there was a library almost as expansive as the one back in Dublith, here under the ground. Some of the books were a little worse for wear, but so many of them he’d never even _seen_ before. And Envy was surprisingly good, if quiet company – he had a book of his own, but he was mostly petting Xiao Mei on his lap.

The problem was, even reading wasn’t quite distracting him enough. “…Alphonse?”

“Mm? Yeah?”

“What can you tell me about Wrath?”

“Oh, she’s cool. A little on edge, but being undercover will do that.”

Undercover. He’d put that much together. He bit his lip, trying to figure out how to ask what he wanted to. “…Who’s Greed?”

“Greed? Oh, well, he’s even more undercover than Wrath is. You might not even meet him for a while.” Alphonse sounded… nervous at that. Which meant there was every chance he was lying – or otherwise obfuscating the truth.

Alex was getting damn tired of being lied to. “You told me you were working against the military.”

“We _are._ We just have help.”

“Like Hawkeye – Wrath.”

“Yeah.” Alphonse offered him a smile, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “The military screws up everybody who joins it. Even Hawkeye’s a little, uh, rattly? Depends on the day, but still.”

That much he could agree with. He doubted Will would ever have gotten so bad if he hadn’t joined the military. Then again, he hadn’t even talked to his brother for months now. Maybe his memory really was filling in the gaps with sweeter things.

There was the sound of a struggle from outside, feet slamming against the floor. Alex closed the book, moving towards the door –

Sloth appeared, face serious. “You’d better stay in here, kid.”

“Who are you calling kid?”

“I mean it.”

Alex shrugged her hand off – but then Envy was grabbing his wrist, shaking his head. Which meant they both knew what it was. He yanked his hand away. “I shouldn’t have _everything_ hidden from me. Stop it.”

He threw open the door, and stepped out onto the balcony, looking down into the great hall. Somebody was running towards the great doors, somebody in rags – and as a shot rang out, he realized Hawkeye was firing.

Well, the least he could do was help. He jumped off the balcony, feet smacking into the ground with a shatter of wood – he’d fix it later – and pounced on the man, pinning him to the floor. “Okay, who are-“

He stopped, frozen. Hughes looked up at him with no recognition, struggling against his grip.

“H- _Hughes?_ ” His voice sounded like it was coming from far away. He wasn’t sure he’d spoken at all. Except… Hughes wasn’t fighting as strongly anymore.

“I know that voice,” he said in confusion .”… _Alex?_ ”

“Hughes, what – what are –“

“No time. Let’s go.” Hughes hauled himself up, grabbed Alex by the hand and made another break for the doors, but a figure appeared at the entrance, blocking their way. A statue? No, it was _moving –_

The figure swung a fist at Hughes, knocking him clean over. Then it advanced on Alex, dark-blue skin rippling with muscle and fangs bared in a rictus of a smile. Then it _spoke,_ fangs moving impossibly –

“I leave you incompetent fools to your own devices for barely a _moment_ and you’ve got prisoners escaping.”

“Call me incompetent again, Greed. Dare you,” Sloth shot back, appearing behind Alex. “Alex, you should go –“

“Oh, so _this_ is Alex.” Greed came closer to him, leaning down and bringing his claws to Alex’s chin, turning his head this way and that. “Hm. Not particularly impressive.”

“We can’t all be the _Ultimate Shield,_ you prick.”

“No, no, I know.”

Sloth murmured to him again, “Alex, you _really should go-_ “

“Why?” he asked.

Then, suddenly, Greed _laughed._ Hughes was struggling to his feet – Greed grabbed him in one hand, holding him by his throat above the floor. Even though Hughes was taller than Greed, he couldn’t make any purchase on the diamond-hard skin, fingernails scrabbling and scratching at the clawed hand.

“What did Pride tell you? Hm? Something noble, I imagine.”

“Alex-“ Sloth sounded almost _desperate._ He hadn’t really believed she had emotions.

“Pride and Envy told me that we were working against the military. But they also told me Hughes was dead.”

“Interestingly,” Greed sighed, “Pride told _me_ the same thing. I’m not shocked. He always was a pushover. About Hughes, to be clear. The rest is nonsense.”

Nonsense? He’d been confused, sure, but clearly he’d just been misunderstanding something.

“Sir,” came Hawkeye’s voice from behind him, “you should put Hughes down before you suffocate him.”

Hughes _was_ starting to look blue, his legs kicking less and less against the air. Greed didn’t move a muscle. “Why? He’s _supposed_ to be dead. Might as well fix that.”

“He belongs to Pride.”

“Don’t tell me about belongings, Wrath. But I suppose I’ve pissed him off enough lately.” He dropped Hughes onto the ground, and there was a sickening _snap_ as Hughes’s ankle hit the ground before the rest of him. “See? Now he won’t run away again.”

Then Greed lowered his shield, normal human skin appearing from beneath the shield.

Alex took a step back – only to feel a gun pressing against the small of his back. Hawkeye. Of course. He should have guessed, really.

“You’ll find, I think, that Pride might have an honest face, but he certainly doesn’t have an honest tongue.” Fuhrer Roy Mustang smirked at him, crossing his arms. “You’ll get used to it.”

* * *

Jean Havoc was supposed to be in the courtroom.

He was at home. He hadn’t even left the house in… days. He had an idea, now, of how Jareth had basically ignored everybody for a month. It was _easy._

The court summons was on the table in front of him. And right there, clear as mud, his name.

He was supposed to be in the courtroom.

To say what? To pretend Jareth wasn’t queer? To say, simply, that he knew nothing about Maes Hughes’s death?

He wasn’t stupid. He knew what they were going to ask him. A month ago, it would have been fine. A month ago, he’d still known who he was. Just a normal guy. The kind of guy who chased skirts and doe-eyed girls, and never thought about much else.

_It’ll be okay,_ he tried to tell himself, downing another shot of gin. _Just go. Just go and-_

And be interrogated in front of everyone about his relationship with Jareth. And try and fail to lie. He wore his heart on his sleeve. Everybody knew it.

Jean rubbed his hands over his face, cheeks wet with tears. He wasn’t going to be responsible for his friend’s death. It was the only thing he could see in front of him – the absolute _inevitability_ of it. He couldn’t lie for shit, and definitely not to higher-ups. Not when he kept tasting Jareth’s lips on his, the fear mixed with passion –

He poured himself a double shot of gin, and drank it in one go, the burn in his throat just giving him more clarity. Then he put the glass down on the coffeetable, resting over the piece of paper with his name, and picked up his gun.


	45. Entertain You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: misogyny irt sex, hand injury, drugs (laudanum), homophobia in the media, war/genocide referenced, hypersexuality discussed, inappropriate sexuality problems, hallucinations/psychosis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song by Within Temptation.
> 
> Ahhh, Clara. I'm sure somebody will have figured out part of her game by now, but it's definitely a little subtle.

~45~

_You think you own me but I wouldn't be so sure  
You won the battle but you're gonna lose a war_

_- **Entertain You**_

By the time Diana stumbled into Knox’s house, feeling sweat roll down her back, she knew she’d made a mistake. She didn’t _have_ to be at the trial today, and she hadn’t wanted to miss it, but she couldn’t think in a straight line. She couldn’t think past anything but her hand.

“Colonel?” Ranfan’s voice. Diana tried to smile comfortingly through the black spots in her vision.

“…Stupid woman. Where are you injured?”

Diana wanted to sass Knox or defend herself, but she was – admittedly – having trouble breathing. She had thought – well, she’d _hoped,_ and mostly pretended, she had it handled. She hadn’t realized how much adrenaline was keeping her together until after she’d left the hospital, and she didn’t want anybody _at_ the hospital asking questions. Thank god Knox didn’t have a day job.

The moment her head hit the pillow of the spare bed, she already started feeling better, although she couldn’t help a flinch as Knox carefully peeled the glove off of her hand. Learned instincts. Fucking _Kimbley._ She hadn’t had a thing about her hands until him. Picked it up like a contagious disease.

Knox took a deep breath. Here came the lecture.

“What is _wrong with you?_ Look at this! I’m going to have to undo your half-assed stitches before I can do anything with this! How are you _moving?_ How – I should kill you myself. Why can’t I get a single patient capable of taking care of herself?” The next thing she knew, there was laudanum being shoved into her other hand. She tried to shake her head – seeing Will doped up on morphine had been bad enough – but Knox huffed. “Trust me, girlie, you’re going to want _some_ relief before I start working on this. What did you do, stop the bleeding and call it done?”

“Bad habits die hard.” He was right, although the taste of the alcohol in the laudanum drops on her tongue just made her want a _real_ drink. The last thing she wanted was an altered state.

“…That looks bad,” came Ranfan’s doubtful comment. “What _happens?_ ”

“Happened, dear,” Diana exhaled. Xingese didn’t really have tenses, so it made sense. Or, well, not in the same way. “Crossed one of the homunculi. Apparently he’s pissed about Lust.”

“Oh.” Ranfan cursed in Xingese under her breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I was going to kill him one way or another.” Diana flinched as Dr. Knox started pulling out her clumsy stitches. She knew enough about emergency medicine and anatomy to know that she hadn’t broken anything; at worst, one of her metacarpals had gotten dislocated, and she was a little worried about the nerves, but she’d managed to snap it back into place alright. It sometimes occurred to her that being that disconnected from her body was a _bad_ thing, but you didn’t stay in Black Ops for long if you didn’t know how to cope with pain. “…I think you three had better get moving, though. You’ll probably be next.”

Dr. Knox hummed quietly to himself. “I suppose I can send them off to Rush Valley or something.”

“I might know someone, if he’s not already sick of m- _“_ Diana cut herself off with a strangled curse.

Knox _audibly_ rolled his eyes. “It wouldn’t hurt so much if you had come here _first._ ”

“I had things to do.”

“Like what? What could possibly be more important than fixing the injury to your hand?”

She shifted, then squeezed her eyes shut as the last stitch came out. Then – “- _motherfucker!_ ”

Knox put the bottle of ethanol down. “I would have warned you, but I didn’t feel like it.”

“Every day, I wonder why we’re friends.”

“We’re friends?” he deadpanned in return. “Now, out with it.”

She supposed it wasn’t really a secret – and certainly Knox wasn’t going to judge. “It’s Fullmetal. He’s been put in Ward One.”

“Ward One, in –“

“Yeah.”

Knox fell silent at that, still working on her hand. “You’re going to have a devil of a time getting him out. If that’s what you want?”

“What do you _mean,_ if that’s what I want?”

“I might be retired – although it doesn’t feel like it with all these stubborn patients around – but I’ve heard plenty about that kid.”

She tried not to get angry. There wasn’t much point – Will had courted his own bad reputation. “He’s a _kid._ And he’s not – he –“

Knox watched her face carefully, and snorted. “I’d say I trust you, but you also told me Kimbley was harmless.”

Oh, screw not getting angry. “Compare him to Kimbley again and I’ll give you a black eye.”

“I’m the one with a needle in your palm. Shut up and lie back, you impossible woman. I know you’re in a bad mood, but don’t take it out on me.”

…That was fair. She dropped her hand onto her face instead. Knox was just repeating what so many other people had, anyway. Even the people who didn’t say it out loud had it lurking in their eyes – _are you sure it’s a bad thing he’s in the hospital?_ Even she’d had her moments. But that _wasn’t_ fair. Will wasn’t – no, claiming he wasn’t insane wasn’t useful either. But he wasn’t in the ward because he needed help. He was in the ward as leverage. She still didn’t know the full story about Forcett, but she had enough blood on her hands to know that things were never so simple.

“I’m responsible for him,” she said after a moment, feeling her voice break a little on the last word and too dizzy to be embarrassed about it. “I’m the one who scouted him for the military, and I’m the one who talked him into it. And now I can’t do _anything._ ”

Knox gave her another measured look, then exhaled. He looked less crabby than before, at least. “Well, at least this hand will heal up if you don’t do anything stupid with it. _If,_ Diana. _If._ ”

“Of course.” She sat up, still wincing – then caught sight of the newspaper on Knox’s table. “What’s that?”

Knox grimaced. “I was hoping you wouldn’t see that.”

She reached for it with her good hand, and felt her heart sink in her chest. _Damn_ that reporter.

**SOLDIER SLAUGHTERS FRIEND IN THROES OF FORBIDDEN LOVE**

“You must be fucking kidding me.”

“Afraid not. I was hoping the Central Gazette was over that sort of tabloid nonsense, too.”

_ Lieutenant charged in shooting death of his best friend_

_The opening volleys of what is already being named the crime story of the year were fired today as attorney Amue Armstrong went head to head with prosecution Lieutenant-Colonel Frank Archer. In the first court martial open to the public in over seventy years, National Defense 2 nd Lieutenant Jareth Valjean stands accused of the shooting death of his best friend and fellow soldier – in a sordid love affair gone wrong. _

_Within their group of friends, the bond between Brigadier-General Hughes and Valjean was almost legendary – “unbreakable”, some claim. However, their relationship became strained when Hughes married and had children. Valjean to this day remains a confirmed bachelor, nursing an unrequited love for a man he could never have._

She kept thinking she couldn’t get angrier. “She can’t just _say_ stuff like that! It isn’t true!”

“And who’s going to challenge it? You?”

“ _Maybe._ ”

_“…I won’t let degeneracy destroy the upright traditions of our military,” Archer stated to the media, “and I will see him punished to the full extent of the law.”_

She almost threw the newspaper – and then something else caught her eye. The first three paragraphs was trash, profiting off of the “sensational” nature of the topic. But then the fourth…

_“The Wilde Act doesn’t make being queer illegal,” Armstrong protested in court. Passed in 1854, the law indeed stipulates only specific types of homosexual acts. It remains to be seen what role the Wilde Act and its definition will play in what was already a murder case._

_Cont. on page 6._

_Interested in an interview? Call 555-435 and share your thoughts!_

Diana squinted at the paper. That was odd. Still _despicable._ But odd. And the photo… She wasn’t sure where Clara had gotten it. But it was of _Archer,_ pointing aggressively towards the back of the photo with a scowl on his face.

“Does this seem odd to you?”

“Which part? The hawkish profiting off of a monkey circus of a trial or the exploitative title?” Knox grumbled, walking away.

Fair point. And she was probably looking for good intent that wasn’t there. She opened it to page 6.

_One might believe that Valjean is a stand-out – someone who simply hid his predilections until it was no longer possible. But an anonymous source said instead, “Within the military, there’s an unspoken law. Don’t ask, don’t tell.” In short, rather than Valjean being an exception, there is apparently a living and vibrant underbelly of homosexual passion within the Amestrian forces. If that’s true, then Archer has his work cut out for him!_

“That bitch,” Diana mumbled, although she was getting more curious and curious by the moment. She couldn’t confirm anything – but she was wondering, now, what game Clara Severin was really playing.

* * *

“Please state your name and rank for the record,” Godfrey droned, and Jareth chewed on the inside of his cheek, hoping that Sheska could handle this. She looked so _small,_ up on the stand.

“Private Sheska Thomas.”

Archer approached her with a glitter in his eyes. “Private Thomas, what is your position within the military?”

“Special Support Staff, librarian in the – oh, well, 2nd Central Branch, now. I _was_ in the 1st Branch, but then it burned down.”

“Burned down? That’s a shame,” Archer replied, not sounding very sorry at all. “When did you first meet the defendant, Miss Thomas?”

_Private,_ Jareth seethed. But Archer was an officer. He wasn’t going to feel obliged to respect the rank of a nobody like Sheska.

Sheska fidgeted with her hands in her lap. “A-about four years ago. He was looking for a book for his commanding officer – something about her research, I think. I helped him out, and then the next day, he came back and asked me on a date.” Her ears had gone red, and Jareth couldn’t help a little smile. She’d made such a flustered _noise._

“A date? Isn’t that a little inappropriate?”

“Oh, not at all, Archer, sir. I checked. Support staff aren’t beholden to the anti-fraternization policy as long as we aren’t under the person’s direct command.”

“You checked? Am I to understand, Miss Thomas, that you checked this _before_ going on a date with him?”

“That’s correct.” She shrunk a little, and Jareth tried to mentally encourage her. _Don’t let him get to you._ “I actually… panicked a little. People don’t usually show interest in me. So I actually came back about an hour later to accept properly.”

There was a snort of laughter somewhere in the courtroom, followed by more. Sheska looked like she wanted to drop herself through the stand, but Jareth glanced behind him, looking around at the faces of the crowd. They weren’t laughing _at_ Sheska. They found it cute. _Well, that works. Shame she thinks they’re making fun of her,_ he sighed internally.

“I see,” Archer said, sounding unimpressed at the reaction Sheska’s testimony was getting so far. “And you’ve been seeing each other consistently?”

“I – um.” Sheska lowered her eyes.

“Answer the question, Miss Thomas.”

“Well, no.”

“How come?” Archer was grinning. Fucking asshole. He knew perfectly well. Jareth didn’t know who was giving him his information, but he was inclined to beat the shit out of them. After he was done with Archer, anyway.

Sheska took a deep breath… and straightened her back. Good girl. “Jareth was unexpectedly reassigned to East City, and didn’t have the opportunity to say goodbye. It wasn’t his fault. These things happen in the military.”

“Not even a letter, or a call?”

Sheska chewed on the inside of her cheek, then pushed her glasses up on her nose. “The reassignment was around the same time that the Fullmetal Alchemist was assigned to Jareth’s unit. As far as I’m aware, he had every intention of calling me, but…” she shrugged, smiling. “I mean, we _all_ know Fullmetal is a handful.”

Another wave of laughter. Amue turned to him, raising her eyebrows quizzically. “…Is this the same Fullmetal currently in the psychiatric ward?”

“Yeah. You get used to him.”

“At this point, I’m not sure whether I want to meet him or avoid him.”

“You get used to that, too.”

“Hm. Sounds like my sister,” Amue grumbled. She was taking notes – which made sense, Jareth mused, given that they hadn’t been given any access to the witnesses beforehand. That in mind, Sheska was doing amazingly well.

Archer turned back to his table, picking up a piece of paper and reading it over. To refresh his memory? Or to bring new information to the table? “And then when the defendant came back to Central, you rekindled your relationship. Is that correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“What is your personal assessment of his character?”

She took a moment, blushing again. Jareth decided to forget where they were for a moment and just enjoy the view. “He’s _very_ loyal. If he’s on your side, that means forever. Honest, trustworthy, and intensely protective of me.” She put a hand to her cheek, trying – and failing – to cover the smile. “He’s a gentleman, Mr. Archer. Maybe a little rough around the edges.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he has a bad smoking habit and curses a lot, Mr. Archer,” Sheska grumbled. “He certainly isn’t a liar. _Or_ a killer.”

Another wave of suppressed giggles. Jareth slid down in his seat a little. “Coulda done without _that,_ ” he joked, although the biggest problem was that now he wanted a cigarette. He was… a little worried about how rosy some of Sheska’s comments were. _She’s defending me in court,_ he told himself. _She knows I’m not_ that _nice._ He hoped.

“Miss Thomas, is your relationship with the defendant of a sexual nature?”

Sheska froze, eyes turning into little pinpricks of embarrassed horror. “What?”

“Objection!” Amue stood up. “This is a _deeply_ inappropriate question for a young woman, Your Honor.”

Godfrey frowned, clearly conflicted. “Normally, I would agree, but it does seem relevant to the case as it’s been outlined. Which you did just as much as Archer, Miss Armstrong,” he added, a small note of chiding in his voice. “Miss Thomas, answer however you feel comfortable.”

Sheska stared into her lap, trying to find her words. “N-no, sir. Or not – um – wh- what are you defining as a sexual nature?”

“Have you had penetrative intercourse with the defendant, Miss Thomas?” Archer asked, and Jareth was ready to leap across the room and strangle him himself. Only Amue’s hand on his leg stopped him.

“I know,” she murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not _me_ you have to apologize to,” he hissed. “I can handle this. She’s _terrified._ ”

“No, sir…” Sheska mumbled, barely loud enough to hear.

“What sexual acts have you and the defendant-“

“That’s _enough!_ ” Jareth didn’t even realize it was him shouting until Godfrey, Archer and Amue all turned to look at him.

“Do you have something to add, Valjean?” Godfrey asked in annoyance.

“If Archer has questions about the sex I have,” Jareth snapped, “he can ask _me._ Not harass a young woman in open court and try to destroy her reputation. Leave her _alone._ ”

“She’s a witness in a court case, Valjean,” Archer shot back, but anything he was about to add was interrupted by the discomfited murmuring in the crowd.

“I think I’m on the defendant’s side here,” Godfrey said after a moment. “I don’t see the relevance of your questions beyond making her upset.”

“If he hasn’t had sex with her, then-“

Sheska stood up, hair bouncing. “Lieutenant-Colonel Archer, the reason Jareth and I haven’t had sex is from _no lack of interest in his part._ If you’re trying to prove whether or not a man is gay because the women he dates aren’t leaping into bed with him right away, then that includes every man who’s ever had an ounce of respect for women. And _clearly_ doesn’t include you!”

“How dare you-“

“I was in the room when you called the defending attorney a floozy, Archer, sir.”

The best part was, Jareth grinned, that Godfrey looked immensely entertained and _wasn’t_ bothering to hide it.

“You have _fascinating_ taste in women,” Amue murmured.

“See, that alone should win the case for me.”

“You’d think, huh?”

Sheska sat down and crossed her arms with a firm nod.

_He’s got to be done now._

Except he wasn’t. “Miss Thomas, are you aware of the defendant’s prior military career?”

“Only in passing.”

Archer opened a file folder, although it was probably to look intimidating more than anything else. “Normally, you wouldn’t be high enough clearance for this – but with special permission from the Fuhrer, some of it has been declassified exclusively for this trial.”

Oh, _no._

“Are you familiar with the Ishvalan Civil War?”

“Who isn’t?” After a glance from Godfrey, Sheska amended her answer. “Y-yes. Of course.”

“What do you know about the defendant’s role?”

Jareth felt his blood run cold, and stared down at his hands in his lap. Amue was giving him a _look._ He didn’t blame her. Black Ops was supposed to be classified. It was public information that he’d been _part_ of it, if you knew where to look, and he’d said as much to Amue. But nobody below General who wasn’t already involved had the full files.

Except by permission of the Fuhrer.

He swallowed thickly.

“Nothing, Archer, sir. He doesn’t like talking about it.”

“Hm. I wonder why,” Archer commented dryly. “I’d like to present to the courtroom the _sealed_ record of Jareth Valjean’s military career during the Ishvalan War.”

“Objection! Relevance, Your Honor?”

Godfrey shook his head. “Overruled, Armstrong. We’ve got witnesses up here testifying to the man’s character. A full history seems fair enough.”

“Not when I haven’t seen this record.”

“Miss Armstrong,” Archer pressed a hand to his chest, “you could have requested this at any time. Do I understand correctly in hearing that you haven’t been made aware of it.”

“I have been perfectly aware of it, Archer. I haven’t had the _clearance._ ”

“Which you could have requested at any point.”

“I’m a _civilian,_ you _pompous-_ “

“Keep a courteous tongue in my presence, or I’ll have you both chucked out,” Godfrey growled, clearly starting to lose his temper. “Miss Thomas, please take the file from Archer and read it out for the jury.”

Sheska took the folder with shaking hands. There wasn’t a damn thing Jareth could do to stop it, and he found himself wishing he’d told her about it earlier – but that wouldn’t have solved anything, either. He didn’t _think_ about Ishval. He didn’t dwell on it. He didn’t even dream about it, except for when he woke up in the middle of the night with the taste of desert sand under his tongue for some reason.

“Jareth Valjean, codename Shrike. Assigned to Black Ops Unit 2. Mission: Destabilization of Ishvalan rebel forces through destruction of gathering places and el- elimination of key persons.” Sheska’s voice failed her. She sounded like she was going to cry. “Confirmed… confirmed kills: eighty.”

Eighty. God. He’d forgotten it was that high. There was a list of names in there, too, he knew. There was a reason the file was classified. And ten years after the end of the war, it was slated to be destroyed.

“I should kill you myself,” Amue hissed. “You didn’t _tell me this._ ”

“I didn’t think it would –“

“Come up?”

“I’m sorry.”

Amue backed off, but her frosty stare still wasn’t easing up. “Time to roll with the punches, I suppose.”

Jareth glared over at Archer – who returned the stare with a satisfied, smug grin. “Still think he would never lie to you?”

Sheska didn’t say anything, closing the file.

“Prosecution rests.”

It was tempting at this point, actually, to throw himself across the room and snap Archer’s neck. He was going to die anyway. He might as well make it satisfying. _You hurt her on purpose, you sick bastard. You did this to hurt her._

Amue stood up, adjusting her jacket and clearing her throat, deep voice settling in her chest. “Private Sheska, I hate to trouble you further, but if the file follows procedure, the other members of the defendant’s unit should be listed in there. Could you read them out for me.”

Sheska looked at her, puzzled, then opened the file again, looking down at the bottom and then flipping the page. “Oh, here it is. Unit 2. Isaac McDougal, Zolf – _oh._ ”

“Please continue, Private.”

“Zolf J. Kimbley, and Diana Solaris.” Sheska’s face was a mix of torn emotions. “I didn’t – I didn’t _know._ ”

“Nobody could have expected you to,” Amue said kindly. From here, Jareth could see the gears whirring in her head. How much _did_ she know? She was an Armstrong. She must know some of the details. Then – “Judge Godfrey, may I ask you a question directly?”

Godfrey blinked. “That’s not strictly following procedure.”

“No, but we’re dealing with classified material. Did you preside over the case of Zolf J. Kimbley when he was initially court-martialed?”

“I did.”

“Could you share the details of that case with the courtroom?”

“I’m afraid I don’t see the relevance here, either.”

“Please bear with me, Your Honor. I don’t think this can be a fair case if all of the information isn’t available.”

Jareth chewed on his lip. This didn’t seem like a great way to _clear_ his name. Bringing up how shitty his old friends was just seemed like it was going to dig him deeper. But he’d already screwed Amue over enough. He was going to keep his mouth shut and hope he had a chance.

“Zolf J. Kimbley, the Crimson Lotus Alchemist, was court-martialed for the destruction of a passenger train and resultant death of over 150 civilians,” Godfrey replied.

“I see. Why did he not get the death penalty, sir? Clearly he didn’t, since he’s in this courtroom and set to take the stand later in the trial.”

“He made a deal with the prosecution and turned over traitors within Special Forces, in return for commutation to a life sentence instead of execution.”

Oh, wonderful. More reminders. Jareth dug his nails into his palm.

“Judge Godfrey, may I remind you that this is _classified information?”_ It was the Fuhrer. And he sounded pissed.

Godfrey actually looked startled. “Fuhrer, sir. If the Special Forces files are declassified for the case, that should mean all of them.”

“It certainly does _not._ ”

“Why not?” Amue challenged. The look Mustang gave her could have killed a lesser lawyer on the spot. “Fuhrer, sir, I don’t see the harm.”

Mustang stayed silent for a long time, and it drew out, covering the room in a hush. “I suppose not,” he said, finally. “But in the future, _all three of you,_ this gets cleared with me _ahead_ of time. In person. In writing.”

“Yes, sir.” Amue sounded almost… _giddy._ “Your Honour, was the defendant implicated in this deal?”

“Not as far as I’m aware. In fact, Valjean is one of only two Special Forces personnel who remained free and alive after the end of the war.”

Amue turned her attention back to Sheska, who was still trembling. “Private Thomas, you described the defendant as – what was it?”

“Loyal, ma’am. Loyal, trustworthy, and honest.”

“Did he ever explicitly _lie_ to you about any of this?”

“No, ma’am!”

“Would you have enjoyed hearing these details?”

“No, ma’am!”

“And in your estimation, does the defendant strike you as one to speak ill of the dead or departed?”

Sheska shook her head. “Not at _all._ No, no. He wouldn’t.”

“It seems to me, then, that he followed orders during wartime, not just as faithfully as _any_ soldier, but in fact significantly more loyally than his Special Forces compatriots.”

“Objection,” Archer snarled. “There’s no question there.”

“Sustained.”

“Withdrawn, then. And I’ll rephrase. From what you’ve just heard, does it sound like Valjean was the one who sold out his fellow soldiers for his own freedom?”

” _Objection! Leading the witness!_ ” Archer sounded almost panicked.

“Sustained,” Godfrey said, hardly sounding like he meant it. “An actual _question_ this time, Miss Armstrong.”

“Of course, sir. Do you, Private Sheska Thomas, believe the defendant capable of killing his own loved ones?”

“Not in a _million_ years.”

“Even if he was, say, angry or drunk?”

“ _Especially_ then.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he’s less grumpy when he’s drunk anyway,” Sheska was smiling again. He was so glad to see it he thought _he_ might cry. Whatever Amue was getting paid, it wasn’t enough.

“Your Honour, the defense rests!” Amue declared triumphantly. And whaddaya know? She was _sparkling_ again.

Bloody Armstrongs.

* * *

Will couldn’t reach under his pillow to find what Diana had put there. It was probably for the best; he’d managed with Selim’s help to convincingly come off as Sane Enough For Trial, and the moment the nurses had left, he’d collapsed back onto the bed, sinking comfortably back into his psychosis. Selim had actually let him this time. Probably because he could see how _exhausting_ it was, trying to work through it.

Mostly he wanted to sleep. Which meant that Diana showing up was pretty much the last thing he wanted.

He levered himself up on his elbow, wincing a little. “You know I know you’re not real.”

Diana just smirked, sitting down on a chair that was probably no more real than she was at the far end of the room. She hadn’t come through the door or anything. She’d just appeared. “I didn’t expect you to think otherwise.”

“This is just awkward.”

“Awkward? Why do you say that?”

“Well, _usually,_ the person I’m hallucinating is my mother,” he snarked back. He really wasn’t in the mood – although, to be fair, he _never_ was. Diana wasn’t giving off motherly vibes, though, not that she ever did. She was wearing the black dress she’d worn at the gala, with her hair loose around her shoulders instead of pinned up behind her head.

“I’m flattered anyway. It seems like as much as you hate me,” she said, idly inspecting her nails, “I’m still who you turn to in your time of need.”

He scoffed. “I’d love if that were true. On both counts. I don’t hate you, but I don’t trust you.”

“Why ever not? Is it the murdering innocents thing?”

“Sure doesn’t help.” He didn’t like how casually the Diana in his head said it. He _knew_ it weighed on Diana’s mind. The flashback during their fight, and the way she’d acted after – no, she’d never be _this_ casual about. “…You could have told me about Hughes.”

She returned his gaze, smirk dropping. “I know.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“You didn’t need to know.”

“Bullshit.”

“You remember I’m not real, yes? You’ll have to ask the real thing for the answer if you want it that badly.”

Will sighed. That was true enough. He just… couldn’t stand the waiting. It seemed like every time he almost persuaded himself he could trust the Colonel, something set them back again. He didn’t hate her. He just… didn’t want to like her so much.

“Oh, don’t worry,” she crooned. “I know _exactly_ how much you like me.”

He felt his face turn red. “I don’t lean that way. We _both_ know that.”

“Yes, but that hasn’t stopped you from thinking about it, has it?” She leaned over, her cleavage visible through the chiffon neckline of her dress. “So many girls your own age and you have dirty thoughts about your own CO.”

“Yeah, and it never goes far.”

“Mm, far enough.” She sat on his bedside, hand stroking down his chest. “And wouldn’t it be easier for you, if it did? It’s perfectly natural, you know.”

“Stop it,” he grumbled, his face hot. There was a difference between what you fantasized about with your dick in your hand, mostly out of curiosity, and what you could actually say with any confidence you were attracted to. He’d gotten off to things he’d never tell anybody about, and that didn’t mean he _wanted_ any of them. The dream he’d had about Kimbley made that clear enough.

“What’s the matter? Ashamed of your own body?”

“Yes, actually, so if you could fuck off, I’d appreciate it.”

The hallucination actually froze at that. Not like a person froze – like she’d turned into a painting, devoid of life. Good thing, too. She’d been starting to slide her dress down her shoulders.

Will sighed, averting his eyes. He had a hard time with _guilt,_ conceptually, but he definitely felt… weird about the fact that this was apparently how his subconscious processed Diana. It didn’t seem fair. She played up her sexuality to _other_ people, but she’d never been like this to him, and he didn’t want her to be. It was creepy that his mind seemed to think otherwise. She wasn’t a fucking sex object.

_No, but your brain kind of does this to everybody._

…That was fair. Horrible, and not helping with how he was feeling about himself, but that was fair. And it wasn’t as recent as he kept thinking it was. It was just, well, it was easier to shove it back into a drawer every few months.

Unbidden, the memory of Jareth’s lips came back to him. Not the first one; the desperate, blood-covered one, when Jareth had saved his life and he’d just been so _grateful._ He tried to draw his legs up to his chest in embarrassment, but he’d forgotten about the leather restraints.

The hallucination of Diana was moving again. More specifically, she’d vanished back to the chair at the foot of the room. “You know he doesn’t love you back.”

“I’m not in _love_ with him,” he argued. He wasn’t sure that was entirely accurate. But the entire concept of ‘love’ seemed… distressingly vague. “I’m not stupid.”

“Mm. You _have_ been chasing after him.”

“I haven’t been chasing shit. We haven’t even been in the same province.”

“…True. Let’s just hope you don’t embarrass yourself.”

_That_ was a rich thing to say to the one tied to a bed. But point taken. He wasn’t known for subtlety.

Tomorrow morning he’d be going on the stand. He’d have to get better at it, _fast._

“Alright, hallucinations. I think you’d better fuck off for a while.”

“Say the magic word.”

“Please?”

“That wasn’t it.” Diana grinned, teeth suddenly very, very sharp. “Try again.”

* * *

Somebody was whispering to Godfrey on the stand. That wasn’t a good sign.

“What’s going on?” Jareth asked, but Amue shook her head. She didn’t have any better idea than him, clearly.

Then Godfrey cleared his throat. “We’re going to take an hour-long recess. It appears one of our witnesses is in critical condition.”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Jareth shoved past Amue and the bailiff, and came up to Godfrey as he descended from the stand. “Sir – Your Honour – what happened? Who is it?”

“Valjean. This isn’t your-“

“Your Honour, these are my _friends._ ” He tried not to sound like he was begging. “Please.”

Godfrey sighed, rubbing his temple, then dropped his voice. “Jean Havoc shot himself last night. I only got word now.”

Jareth felt the ground move under his feet. Jean. Oh god, Jean. “He’s –“

“He isn’t dead, but it’ll be touch and go. It appears he tried to shoot himself through the mouth and was drunk enough for the gun to slip and go through his jaw instead. He certainly won’t be any fit condition to testify any time soon.”

Jareth tried to figure out what to say. This was his fault. This was _his_ fucking fault. He had pushed Havoc on it, hit on him –

_It wasn’t that simple,_ protested part of him. But it didn’t matter, not when Jean had a bullet in his head.

“I have to see him. Please.”

Godfrey gave him a sympathetic smile – then reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I sympathize, Valjean,” he said, voice still low, “but considering your position, that’s the _last_ thing you should do.”

His –

Fuck. Yeah. He couldn’t rush to Jean’s bedside.

“I’m very sorry.” Godfrey left, and Jareth dropped his hands down by his sides. He didn’t even react when the bailiff grabbed his wrists, putting him back in cuffs.

“Jareth!”

He turned – and Sheska wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. A moment later, the cameras went off. Later, Sheska would claim it was on purpose, but Jareth knew perfectly well that just like him, he’d had no idea.

The next day, it was splashed over the front page of not just the Central Gazette, but at least _three_ of the major newspapers. His hands cuffed behind him, Sheska’s feet barely touching the floor, the bailiff growling behind him. The headlines differed – _MURDER CASE WAVERS IN FACE OF LOYAL LOVER, ISHVALAN HERO’S FALL FROM GRACE, JARETH VALJEAN: SINNER OR VICTIM? –_ but the photo, somehow, stayed the same.


	46. Pop Culture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: homophobia and transphobia discussed (incl. homophobic murder), manipulation, parental abandonment, fat joke (very much a cheerful one, but still), sanism+ transmisogyny Special Combo, media bullshit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More updates, woo! I did not quite manage to have up to Chapter 50 in time for the inauguration, but I'll still be done before the end of January (woohoo) and a little anniversary of my own is around there, so I can still be happy. I'm also going to be taking on the task of putting these all on FF.net which.... sighs. This chapter in particular will be. A challenge. Have I mentioned how much more I like AO3's formatting? I have now. 
> 
> Linguistic notes! I love writing the Gate but it is a weird thing.
> 
> (ااو)* is the 3rd person singular pronoun in literary Persian, transliterated as ‘u’. τεκνωματα means ‘children’ in Ancient Greek – the more common translation is ‘τεκνον’/’τεκνα’ but τεκνωμα/τεκνωματα is a more metaphorical version. Transliterated, it’s ‘teknōmata’. ‘o’ is the Turkish third person pronoun, and あの人 is ‘anohito’, Japanese, formal-ish version of third person singular pronoun. Αυτο is – you guessed it – third person neutral pronoun! ‘fragmen’ means fragment, ‘mundus’ means world, and κοσμος means universe, although they’re being used in specific ways here that will be talked about more later. Also, I think this is my record for the most languages used at once. Whoof.
> 
> *Elliott, why is the Persian in brackets? Because Persian is written right to left and personally hates me and keeps trying to destroy my formatting, that’s why. Just. Just go with it.
> 
> While the TWs as usual include this, I am going to make clear that ‘transvestite’ in particular is very much an Out Of Date word. Don’t use this on anybody unless they’ve specifically indicated they’re fine with it! The reason it’s used here is because, as I’ve said a few times, the term ‘transgender’ genuinely doesn’t exist yet – and I’m enjoying writing a clear trans narrative without using it, actually – but transvestite predates it and was used more for drag queens and such. Even Marsha P. Johnson identified herself as a transvestite at first, despite famously being a trans woman.
> 
> Song is by Icon for Hire. (I love it SO MUCH. Although I don't think there's a single song I've used that isn't like, somewhere in the all-time favourites.)

~46~

_Counting down the minutes 'til my heartbeat stops  
Fooling myself is a full-time job_

_- **Pop Culture**_

> **SEVERIN:** _Thank you so much for coming in for this interview, even anonymously. Do you feel comfortable sharing a little about yourself?_
> 
> **“DUCHESS”:** _Absolutely. I mean, good luck findin’ me. I’m a sex worker and transvestite, and I’m in my mid-20s._
> 
> **SEVERIN:** _Can you define those for our readers?_
> 
> **“DUCHESS”:** _*laughs* I mean, sure. I screw people for money, and I’m a boy who likes wearing dresses. Ain’t complicated._
> 
> **SEVERIN:** _Oh goodness. And do you identify as a homosexual?_
> 
> **“DUCHESS”:** _Well aye, sure, but that’s the thing, Clara, duckie. That’s a word_ you _use. Upper class twits – er, not you, sorry. But it’s all fancy-shmancy and tryin’ to prove how much better you are. I mean, how’d you like it if I asked if you identified as a heterosexual?_
> 
> **SEVERIN:** _Point taken. What do you call yourself, then?_
> 
> **“DUCHESS”:** _Beyond transvestite? Mostly just queer, y’know. It’s a nice all-purpose word. And it_ sounds _nicer than bent._
> 
> **SEVERIN:** _What about gay?_
> 
> **“DUCHESS”:** _That works too, la, but it gets a little ambiguous. Twenty years ago it meant happy. I mean, I’m that too, but sometimes I’m tryin’ to be clear._
> 
> **SEVERIN:** _I see, I see. And what about the crossdressing?_
> 
> **“DUCHESS”:** _Mostly it’s just fun. Why do gals get all the fun? Have you seen how awful men’s fashion is?_
> 
> **SEVERIN:** _That’s… that’s a good point. I guess I just never thought of it that way. Many people say it’s a sign of moral decay – queerness and crossdressing. Never mind sex work._
> 
> **“DUCHESS”:** _Tell you f----- what. If a single one of those meffs can actually ‘splain me how I’m harmin’ the fabric of society by lookin’ better in a dress than their gals, I’ll hang it up overnight. But they’d have to stop ogling my arse first._
> 
> **SEVERIN:** _My, you are spirited!_
> 
> **“DUCHESS”:** _Serious answer, though. Since you’ll be wanting one. Everybody wants to point the finger at somebody or other, don’t they? I mean, lookit this trial. Isn’t it awfully loud? Meanwhile, ain’t nobody talking about what’s happening in Forcett, or at the Cretan border._
> 
> **SEVERIN:** _…What do you mean?_
> 
> **“DUCHESS”:** _Exactly my point. Even the newslady don’t know, because they’ve got ye coverin’ this tripe. [Sections of this interview have been removed by the head editor.]_
> 
> **SEVERIN:** _So you don’t think Valjean did it._
> 
> **“DUCHESS”:** _Didn’t say that._
> 
> **SEVERIN:** _Really?_
> 
> **“DUCHESS”:** _Well, here’s the thing nobody’s sayin’. Sure, this whole trial’s trying to prove he’s too good to have killed this upstanding family man. But upstanding family men kill us all the time. I don’t know if he did it. But if he did, I’ll bet real money the gun was pulled on him first._
> 
> **SEVERIN:** _That’s a sobering thought. It seems so unlikely._
> 
> **“DUCHESS”:** _If you’re learning anything from covering this trial, Clara love, it should be how much people hate us._

* * *

He wasn’t always sure who he was. It wasn’t always a bad thing; sometimes the ability to switch faces and names was a good thing. Most of the time.

If he’d been a worse person.

Edward raised his hand to knock at the locked door, then decided against it for the third time. Instead, he slid his hands back into his pockets, and tried to decide who he was going to be today. Not Dr. Holland – he’d left the trial after hearing about Havoc, unable to put up with any more of Mustang’s smug smiles, and he couldn’t stand dealing with Will today either. So he’d kicked around in the library, and then come down here, only to find that Greed had wrecked things this morning and not bothered to tell him. To be fair, it wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty on his mind. That was probably why Envy and Sloth hadn’t grabbed him. The last thing he needed to do was get into a shouting match with his mother that was going to end badly for everyone.

“I don’t think you’re who he wants to see right now,” Al mumbled, sitting on the ground.

“Oh, and he’s going to be any happier with you?”

“He’s _not._ ”

Ed bit his tongue. He should have known that from the look on Al’s face. Al did a great job of convincing everybody else he was practically emotionless, nearly as sadistic as Sloth. But Ed knew him better than that. It was obvious, if you bothered to pay attention. He was curled up against the wall, face somber, looking a little like _he’d_ been the one getting kicked around. Actually, knowing Mustang, that wasn’t an impossibility, either. “What happened?”

“Hughes broke out.” Al couldn’t keep the accusatory note out of his voice. “Greed showed up in time to stop him, but Alex saw the whole thing. He freaked out pretty bad, so Dante locked him in here. No idea what she said.”

“Was she alone with him-?”

“No, Sloth stayed in there.”

Ed exhaled in relief. There was that, at least. Although at this point, it seemed like a small mercy. “…So I guess the game’s up.”

“It was up a while ago, Ed. And now getting him to do _anything_ is going to be impossible.”

“There are ways-“ He cut himself off at Al’s reproachful look. “What, I’m supposed to be nicer to him than the rest of us?”

“We need him, Ed. We need him on _our_ side.”

They did. And – god. Neither of them were going to say it, not out loud, but the lie _weighed_ on them. It certainly weighed on him, at least. He hadn’t actually thought Alex was going to believe it for so long, not so entirely, but he’d forgotten just how fucking persuasive Dante was, and how _young_ Alex was. It’d been a long time since he was fourteen.

“I see you’ve showed up to clean up your mess finally.”

“Oh, _great._ You too?”

Hawkeye strode up to him in the hallway. No punch this time. That was almost worse. “For somebody with a lot of great words about standards, Pride, you’re quite the hypocrite,” she said lowly.

“So now you care?”

“He’s our family now. Do you need a reminder about who is and isn’t your family? _Edward?_ ”

“Watch your mouth, Wrath,” he snapped. “It’s not like he was _happy_ before-“

“And he’s happy now? You told him we were _toppling the military._ I know you hate Mustang, but this is insane.”

“I never explicitly…” he tried weakly. “A little help, Envy?”

“Oh, don’t worry, you’re _both_ in trouble.”

Edward sighed, giving up. It didn’t seem worth the trouble at this point that – well, okay. He’d said the initial lie. And he _had_ been feeling petty at the time. He hadn’t expected Dante to run with it. “I don’t see why everybody’s so fussed about _lying_ to people when it’s Alex.”

“Because when it’s somebody we’re trying to kill, we don’t have to _live with them,_ you _fucking idiot._ ”

Ah. Yeah. That was a fair point. Also, when _Hawkeye_ called him a fucking idiot, that said plenty. “Just let me talk to him. Please?”

“…I will be waiting. Out here. In case I have to step in.”

Al opened his mouth – and Hawkeye shot him a fierce look. “ _You_ have done _plenty.”_

“I –”

“ _Leave._ ”

It was all the worse, he sighed, that he really _didn’t_ have an answer to Hawkeye for this one. He’d been lashing out at Mustang, and he didn’t have much of an excuse beyond that. He could have picked something a little less targeted, or less hard to keep up. But no, he had to get Alex all morally fired up.

He knocked on the door, then opened it. The bedroom that Alex had been given – and locked into – was one of the ones he was less familiar with, but a lot of the ones in the underground mansion looked much alike anyway. Canopy bed in the corner, bookshelf on the wall, carpet dusty with age, and a lamp hanging that mostly only worked because Dante kept updating the lighting system every time she got bored.

…And no Alex. Shit.

“Uh, kid?” No response. “Alex?” He stepped further into the room, heart suddenly pulsing in his throat. No way had they lost him. He could _smell_ him, that weird mix of the usual homunculus-smell with the blood seal that was still somewhere on his body. So he was still here –

The door swung shut behind him, and two feet slammed into the small of his back, alchemic sparks flying and plaster falling off of Alex’s body. Ed managed to spin it into a somersault, but Alex’s hands found his throat anyway, and he managed to tear them off, yelping a little at the sight of his teeth which had _not_ been that sharp the last time he’d seen him. “Motherfucker-“

“Take me home!”

“Jesus christ would you-“

“No! I’m not listening to _anything else_ you say!” Sharp fingers raked over his face then dug into his exposed midriff. It healed quickly, but it _hurt._ “I want to go _home!_ ”

“I can’t be worse than W-“

“ _Yes you fucking are!_ ”

Oh boy. Wasn’t sure how to take that one. He was too startled to get angry. “You’re not a doll anymore!”

“Nope!” Then Alex slammed his hands together – and onto Pride’s chest.

- _“Dad! Dad, look what I can do!”_

_“Oh goodness gracious. Did you make that all on your own? But I haven’t taught you anything but the basics for alchemy…”_

_“I figured it out!”_

_Laughter, and his father spinning him around, ruffling his hair. “Wait til I tell your mother. You are so talented! I should have guessed.-_

_-“YOU AREN’T MY SON”-_

_-come back, come back, I’m sorry-_

A gun fired, and the hands left his chest, breaking the transmutation. He couldn’t breathe. He wanted to throw up.

Hawkeye was standing over the two of them, holding a handful of Alex’s hair. “Pride, I suggest you make yourself scarce before Alex tries that again.”

“I…” No, actually. She had the right idea. “Yeah. Yeah, good idea.”

“Let go of me!”

“I will in a moment. After you promise to not try that again.”

“Why _not?_ ”

“Because,” Edward managed to gasp out, “you’ll level half the city.”

Alex stopped fighting for a moment. Then he glared at him. “Why should I believe you?”

“Exactly why I was telling him to leave, and perhaps you and I can have a chat.”

“I don’t believe _you_ any more than _him!_ ”

“I know, dear. But let’s see what we can do.” Slowly, Hawkeye released Alex’s hair. Ed got to his feet, trying to hide how much he was shaking – and tried not to slam the door when he left.

_Do you need a reminder of who is and isn’t family?_

_I’m not worse than Will._

This had been a bad idea. From beginning to end, it had been a bad fucking idea.

Served him right.

* * *

> _After a short recess, the most hotly awaited trial in Central reconvened, just in time for the next round of testimonies. Second Lieutenant Heymans Breda takes the stand, and stands his ground against fierce questioning from both the prosecution and defense._
> 
> BREDA: I’ve worked with Valjean for many years, sir.
> 
> ARCHER: How long, exactly?
> 
> BREDA: At least five years, I believe.
> 
> ARCHER: During that time, did he ever make any inappropriate comments to you?
> 
> BREDA: He made a joke about me being fat once, sir.
> 
> ARCHER: What was your response?
> 
> BREDA: I stole his sandwich.
> 
> _The courtroom fills with laughter. This isn’t the first time one of Jareth Valjean’s coworkers has made Archer look like a fool, and it’s not likely to be the last._
> 
> ARMSTRONG: Have you ever known the defendant to be inappropriate with anybody?
> 
> FUERY: No, ma’am.
> 
> ARMSTRONG: What about his friendship with Maes Hughes?
> 
> FUERY: They were really close. Like brothers, really. They were always teasing each other about one thing or another.
> 
> ARMSTRONG: Do you have an example?
> 
> FUERY: Um, Hughes really liked showing off pictures of his kid. It really got on Valjean’s nerves. Not – not in the _bad_ way. But man, Hughes had so many photos. So many. _So many._
> 
> …
> 
> ARCHER: Would you say the defendant seemed _overly_ bothered by the photos of Hughes’s daughter, Sergeant?
> 
> FUERY: No? I mean I don’t – no, I don’t think so?
> 
> ARCHER: You seem conflicted. Did it seem like the photographs bothered him?
> 
> FUERY: No more than anybody _else._ I mean, it was a _joke._
> 
> ARCHER: I’m asking if it was perhaps not a joke for the defendant.
> 
> FUERY: I’m pretty sure it was. I mean, Jareth _loves_ Elysia.
> 
> ARCHER: Has the defendant visited Elysia Hughes since her father’s death?
> 
> FUERY: How should _I_ know?
> 
> _A strike in Archer’s favour, and discomfort in the courtroom as the jury exchanges glances._

* * *

I remember this one.

I remember all of the souls who come and stand before me, bold and fearful, determined to tear knowledge from the hands of my (τεκνωματα) and become demigods in their own right. Or, sometimes, only to restore something broken. They do not understand, usually, that ‘broken’ is a natural state. Not all broken things are to be fixed.

Some.

Not all.

This one sits down in front of me. (ااو) is different than last time, but not in ways that I am built to comprehend. Desire. Heartache. Misery. Confusion. I see it written in the lines of (あの人) face, in the legs that tremble on the ground, the arms that aren’t quite holding the weight upon them.

“What now?” the stray one sighs. “I’m busy.”

I do not have a mouth of my own. It is not my duty to reply. Instead, it is my ( **FRAGMEN** ) who speaks. WHAT DO YOU WANT?

“This again? I told you. I have no fucking idea. To be dead? That sounds great. So if you’re going to eat me, why don’t you get it over with?”

IT IS NOT CONSUMPTION.

“Whatever it is. Just – stop fucking with my head.”

I do not name things. That is not my duty. I identify humans only by the fact of their intrusion. Their emotions leave bruises on the world. This one is made of jealousy that is unspoken, unacknowledged. Jealousy and spite and fury, and a passionate undertow of love, just as hidden, just as feared.

My (τεκνωμα) hears me. HUMAN EMOTIONS ARE FOREIGN TO US.

“Yeah, I hadn’t noticed,” (αυτο) grumbles.

OVER TIME, THEY ARE CONTAGIOUS. THEY ARE A DISEASE TO OUR KIND.

“Your kind?” The stray one looks up at me. I am not the one speaking. It does not matter. Then (o) turns around, scrambling to bare feet and looking over at where the empty vessel sits.

It is not me who suffers from human emotion. Not all broken things are in need of fixing. Fragments leave us. They decay and become incompatible with the (ΚΟΣΜΟΣ). And my (FRAGMEN) has not been afflicted. It is with silence we stare at the body that belonged to the stray one’s brother, the body that should have another Child in it.

The stray one stares at it, like (あの人) did before. And my Child steps out of my doors (one of the two sets; I am everywhere, I am nowhere, I am the void that surrounds them, I am the air that is not air, I am the cold beneath their feet), the flesh arm and leg still bolted to their emptiness. It is then that the stray one understands.

“There’s supposed to be another one. Isn’t there? There’s more than one of you. That’s what you meant by ‘your kind’.” (あの人) approaches the second set of doors, hand stroking over the doors that belong to another. There is intimacy in it. Another foreign emotion. “Where is – er, he, I guess? I don’t know if you do gender.”

WE DO NOT. BUT ANY DETERMINATION WILL SUFFICE.

“Cool. Where’s the other Gatekeeper? If Alex’s body is here…”

HE WAS TAKEN.

“By who?”

AN OLD ENEMY. MANY OF US HAVE BEEN TAKEN. WHEN WE ARE IN THE WORLD TOO LONG, THE DISEASE TAKES US. WE CANNOT RETURN. OFTEN, WE FORGET.

There is another emotion on the stray one’s face. I cannot identify it at first. Sympathy. Fear. Some sort of knowing – or suspicion. “You’re _people._ ”

NO. WE ARE NOT PEOPLE. WE ARE…

And my ( **FRAGMENS** ) pauses. It waits for me to tell it what to say. There is no word that a human mind will comprehend fully, and the stray one is already closer to understanding than most.

WE ARE OTHERWISE.

“…Yeah, uh, that doesn’t really make sense. But close enough.” (ااو) reaches out to touch the empty body, then hesitates. “Why tell me this?”

AN EMPTY VESSEL WILL DIE.

“…Shit. So Alex’s current body is going to reject him, and he might not have anything to go back to.”

CORRECT.

“What – what do I do if that happens? Just keep moving him from body to body and hope it sticks?”

THAT WOULD WORK FOR SOME TIME. IT DECAYS THE SOUL. AND YOU WOULD HAVE TO PAY A TERRIBLE PRICE FOR EVERY NEW VESSEL.

“I-“ Then the stray one goes very suddenly, terribly silent. “Oh. Oh god. That’s what Dante does, isn’t it?”

We do not respond.

“How long? How long has she been staying alive like that?”

It takes time, for me to understand the request. Our enemy changes names as easily as she changes faces. IT HAS BEEN FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY YEARS SINCE OUR ENEMY FIRST TORE ONE OF US FROM OUR REALM.

“Four-“ There is a thud as the stray one sits down. “Well. How long do I have? Before his body dies for good?”

IT IS UNCLEAR. THE MISSING ONE RETURNS FROM TIME TO TIME. THIS IS UNUSUAL. BUT IT KEEPS THE BODY FROM DECAYING.

“Unclear. Okay. That’s, uh. Not super useful, but… alright.” Then (ااو) is silent for a while. “Why?”

YOU MUST CLARIFY.

“Why did you punish us? We just – we just wanted to see her smile again.”

More emotions. Complicated ones, that tangle like thorn vines over the hands of my ( **FRAGMENS** ).

IT WAS NOT A PUNISHMENT. IT WAS A PRICE.

“A harsh one.”

IT WAS NOT A PUNISHMENT. IT WAS A PRICE.

“For what?”

KNOWLEDGE.

“Knowledge of _what?_ That I fucking failed?”

THAT IS STILL KNOWLEDGE.

And so the stray one considers that. Perhaps in time (αυτο) will understand. Above all else, there must be balance. The ( **MUNDUM** ) and the (ΚΟΣΜΟΣ). What is and what will be and what has passed. The ocean and the moon.

Not all broken things are to be fixed.

But some.

My Child is feeling something strange. The start of a disease. Negligible, still – and curious to watch. My ( **FRAGMENS** ) is hoping that the stray one is successful. It is hoping for the other to come home.

Contagious, indeed.

* * *

> _Tomorrow, the trial will feature one of the most hotly anticipated witnesses yet – the infamous William Elric, better known as the Fullmetal Alchemist. Courting infamy wherever he goes, it’s been a source of much gossip whether or not he will actually appear at Valjean’s court martial, but it was confirmed by an inside source this morning that he is actually set to testify._
> 
> _The youngest State Alchemist in Amestris’s military history, Elric was recently detained after an unknown incident on the Aerugoan border. While the newspaper could not reach any medical officials for comment, rumours claim that Elric had a psychotic break and killed several soldiers. What could this young madman have to say on the stand, and will it make or break Valjean’s case? It’s hard to say._
> 
> _“Elric is… a talented young alchemist, and we’re very lucky to have had him on our side,” Mustang said when reached for a statement. “I can’t comment on his mental or physical state, but there’s no shame in needing psychiatric help, and I’m deeply saddened at the stigma it still carries.” When asked if this was him confirming the rumours, Mustang refused to clarify._
> 
> _Other soldiers were less confident. “He’s a fun kid, but… he’s always been a little off,” an anonymous source admitted. “Sometimes you don’t want to cross somebody because you’re not sure if they’ll hit you or put your head on a stake. You know?”_
> 
> _Of course, no article about William Elric could be complete without acknowledging the just-as-frequent rumours about the young man’s sexuality. It’s well known that the famed alchemist goes for midriff-baring shirts and skirts that would make most young women blush…_

* * *

Alex tore his hair out of Hawkeye’s grip, tensed and ready for her to attack him or something similar. Whatever happened next, there was no way it was going to be good. He’d figured out _that_ much.

But Hawkeye didn’t move towards him. Instead, she sat down on the four-poster bed, carefully taking apart her gun and cleaning it. He didn’t doubt that she had plenty of other ways of hurting him if she wanted to, but it was still a – he didn’t want to say _nice_ gesture. Interesting. It was interesting. “That was an interesting trick with the wall. How did you do that?”

“I had the door closed. How’d you see that?”

“You first,” she said with a small smile.

…Fair enough. He crossed his arms, but found himself relaxing, _just_ a little bit. “It, uh – I’m not _entirely_ sure why, but I can apparently transmute parts of this body, just like the other one. The only part I can’t is the bit on my foot with the tattoo.” He tried not to feel the little sting at that. He hadn’t noticed it right away. How often did you really look at the bottom of your foot? But there it was – the same blood seal as before. It was a tattoo instead of a seal, to match the others… but it was the same design. Some things, he supposed, he couldn’t get away from. “So I just fused myself with the wall.”

“Oh, that _is_ interesting. Will you show me?”

“I thought you saw it.”

“More or less, but I’d love a better view.”

He supposed it couldn’t hurt. He clapped his hands, and drew one over his arm, turning it into carbon much like Greed’s shield. Hawkeye looked more impressed than he’d thought she would be – and covered her mouth in a small laugh.

“Oh, you are going to make some _enemies_ with that.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Both Greed and Pride are very, uh… hm. What _is_ the best word…” she mused. “Vain? I believe you’ll stir up some _feelings_ about the fact that you can probably outstrip both of them.”

“ _Really?_ But it’s just alchemy.”

“Perhaps, but you’re the only one of us who can do alchemy, and I doubt the master planned on you being able to transmute your own body like that.” Her eyes twinkled a little at that.

Alex crossed his arms, trying not to flush. He didn’t want to like Hawkeye. He didn’t want to like anybody here. Certainly not _now._ “…Okay, you promised.”

“I did, didn’t I?” She took off her glasses, and Alex blinked in surprise, before leaning in for a closer look. Her eyes didn’t have pupils. Instead, there were Ourobouros symbols inside of her eyes.

“But I would have…” He looked down at the glasses. The red hue cancelled out the tattoos… and got darker in the middle. “Oh. Oh, that’s _neat._ ”

“I can see almost everything,” she said, sounding nearly embarrassed. “I can see through things, and heat signatures, and even trails sometimes.”

“Wh-what do I look like?”

“Hm. Like a very stubborn teenager.”

He felt his blush deepen. “I’m not- well – I – stop it.”

She smiled, glancing down at his chest. “I suppose you’d be interested to know why you can do alchemy.”

Alex’s heart skipped a beat. “I – yeah, actually. I was… wondering.”

“The doll you inhabited before is inside your chest. Your central Stone is within that, and then the flow of Red Water extends beyond it.” She put her glasses back on. “I’m no alchemist, so I don’t know the details. But I imagine the alchemy itself is coming from there.”

“O-oh.” He wasn’t sure why he was disappointed. Maybe because his body suddenly felt like a – a _shell,_ instead of a body. _Don’t be silly. It’s fine._

“On that topic, however. Why don’t you sit down?”

“No, thanks. I’m good.”

“You _are_ stubborn. Please don’t attempt to transmute Pride again.”

“Is it really that dangerous?” he asked, feeling more sheepish than he wanted to. He wanted to claim he’d had a plan, but really, he’d just been angry. He _still_ was. Just… it was a little bit less overwhelming now that it wasn’t Pride he was glaring at.

“Oh, yes. Most of us have to be careful around activated arrays, even. We’re essentially unfinished Stones.”

That was scary to think about, when he thought about the fact that he could use alchemy. He kept that to himself, though. “He lied to me. Him and Envy.”

Hawkeye sighed, putting her reassembled gun aside. “They did. I’m not sure why. Or at least why they would go to such lengths.”

“They probably lied about Will, too.” That didn’t seem quite right, but he couldn’t make his brain hold onto it. Everything felt slippery and out of reach when he thought about Will, events cluttering into orders that didn’t make sense, words twisting and changing the more he tried to hold onto them.

Hawkeye paused, clearly thinking over her words. “…I’ve known Pride for a long time. Envy, too. But Pride and I were the first. Everybody else came later.”

Oh. He had _not_ thought Hawkeye was that old. “Y-you don’t _look_ four hundred…”

She shook her head, smiling. “I’m about… three hundred and fifty? Eighty? Somewhere around that. My body is twenty-two and always will be. Pride is older by years, but his body is sixteen or so. Sometimes it shows.”

Alex slowly moved over to the bed, sitting down next to Hawkeye. She didn’t say anything, although she did look pleased.

“Pride isn’t a good liar, is the thing. It’s why I’m so surprised. Oh, he’ll lie about who he _is_ and do what’s necessary. But usually he tells the truth, just… from _his_ perspective.”

“So he really does think Will is abusive.”

Hawkeye shrugged. “Something of the sort, at least. I know he has his own reasons to dislike your brother, but I think it’s probably also true that he hasn’t actually _lied_ about how Will treats you.”

Alex chewed on the inside of his cheek. He _hadn’t._ He’d already been mad at Will. Envy cornering him at Lab 5 had mostly been stuff he’d already suspected. Otherwise it wouldn’t have worked. “Is Envy a bad liar too?”

“Hmm… He’s better at it. I’m going to venture a wild guess and say that the ‘working against the military’ thing came from _Pride_ originally.”

“Good guess,” he grumbled. She _did_ know Pride well. Then he thought about what Greed had said about Pride being a liar. It didn’t quite fit what Hawkeye was telling him. “Er – Greed and Pride don’t like each other much, do they?”

Hawkeye paused, then dropped her hands into her lap with a sigh. “That would be an understatement.”

“So Pride was, what, trying to pit me against Greed?”

“Probably not purposefully. But yes. Probably a practical joke in the making or something equally ill-considered.” Her voice had gone frosty.

“ _Why_ do they hate each other? Everybody kept telling me the homunculi were like a family.”

Hawkeye took a deep breath, and exhaled, looking very tired. “We are. That doesn’t mean it’s a functional one.”

“Oh.”

“I’m hesitant to actually say it’s my fault. But certainly I seem to be a point of friction.” She looked nervous, shifting on the bed. “Or, at the very least, an excuse.”

“An excuse?”

“Pride insists that Mustang doesn’t treat me right. In turn, Mustang goes after Pride for being jealous or possessive, Pride hits back at him, and it just goes on from there. Certainly my opinion doesn’t seem to factor in.”

“Well, that’s shitty.”

Hawkeye gave him an almost thankful look. He hadn’t thought that would be an unusual opinion, but he supposed if she’d been stuck between two arrogant, big-headed idiots for… oh god, how long _had_ it been? “They are both perfectly lovely men as long as you can avoid the topic of the other.”

Alex grumbled a little to himself. Mustang hadn’t exactly struck him as _nice._ But clearly Hawkeye knew a part of him that he didn’t. Besides… well, clearly she and Mustang weren’t just friends.

_She’s trying to trick you into getting comfortable again,_ warned part of him. But he couldn’t quite make himself act on that. Hawkeye was the first person so far who actually _didn’t_ seem to be pressuring him into anything or wanting anything from him. There wasn’t the feeling of being pushed towards something, or goaded into a reaction. Just… a comfortable truce.

“I can’t stay here,” he murmured, aware of how his voice had dropped but unable to raise it. “I won’t work for her. I _can’t._ ”

“I’m afraid you don’t have much choice.”

“She can hurt me all she wants.”

Hawkeye put a hand on his shoulder. “Alex, you say that now, but there are limits to what anybody can take. And perhaps you’re looking at this the wrong way.”

“How? She told me she was working _against_ the military. Except Greed runs the damn thing!”

“Yes. And access to power is a good thing.”

“Not like _this,_ ” he seethed.

“How would you prefer it then?” Hawkeye asked. “Clean? Bloodless? All of the power to change things and none of the pain of acquiring it?”

“I don’t _have_ any power, though.”

“You have more power than you did. Not as much as you wanted. That much is certainly true. But are you willing to give up the freedom that you do have for the satisfaction of refusing?”

Alex wanted to respond to that – but he couldn’t come up with anything. She had a point. “…Dante’s going to make me do things, isn’t she?”

“Very possibly. She’s a cruel master, but not an entirely unreasonable one. She’s working towards a power of her own, and part of the promise she gives us is that it’ll be our power as well.”

“That’s very vague.”

“Deliberately so. I don’t know all the details, and the details I do know, you don’t need at the moment.”

Alex couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “More secrets.”

“Yes, but at least you know they exist this time. It’s about the compromises we make, for what we really want.”

…Point. Still, though. “What do _you_ know about compromises?”

At first, he thought she might get mad. Instead, though, she just gave him an inscrutable look. “…A long time ago,” Hawkeye said, sounding very far away, “I was trapped between one unthinkable option and another. I didn’t want to die, but the only route I had in life was no more appealing.”

“What was it?”

“Oh, these details fade with time,” she said, and Alex knew she was lying, but he decided not to pry. “But it was Pride who first found me. He offered me power – not just for the sake of power, as people get so worried about. But the power to change my fate.”

“And you took it?”

“Of course I did. I took the Stone and swallowed it, and once I had become something else, something… _otherwise,_ I returned home. I returned to the people who had trapped me in a cage, and I killed every last one of them.”

A horrid chill went down Alex’s back. He’d misjudged. He’d misjudged, and he had to get out of here _now._

But Hawkeye didn’t look any more like a monster than she had a minute ago. He couldn’t wrap his head around it.

_Solaris’s done worse. Armstrong’s done worse. You know that._

“You don’t… You must have been so angry.”

“Oh, I was. I always am. But that’s the thing about anger, Alex. It’s a weapon. Your little outburst at Pride – you must have noticed how much stronger it made you.”

“It made me _sloppy,_ ” Alex said doubtfully.

“That’s why you practice. You hold it in your chest, and you wait. You sharpen it, and you don’t let go of it. And then when you need it, it’s there.”

Slowly, Alex nodded. “What about Dante?”

“Mm.” Hawkeye didn’t smile, or anything so obvious. “She’s very fond of building her cages. Do with that what you will.”

_The people who had trapped me in a cage-_

Oh.

He could work with that.


	47. Red Right Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: quite a bit more sexual stuff than usual (although still not explicit), wartime/PTSD reference, unfortunately gleeful murder reference, attempted murder, racism, misogyny, homophobia… probably missed something, but I am doing my best :P

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually intended this chapter to go differently… and then… Kimbley.
> 
> Song is by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds!

~47~

_He'll wrap you in his arms  
Tell you that you've been a good boy  
He'll rekindle all the dreams  
It took you a lifetime to destroy  
He'll reach deep into the hole  
Heal your shrinking soul  
But there won't be a single thing that you can do_

**_-Red Right Hand_ **

He was supposed to be getting up, but sometime in the night, he had acquired a weight on his chest that was snoring loudly under the blankets. Jareth tried, valiantly, to be annoyed. It didn’t work.

He lifted the blanket. “Zolf.”

No answer. The other man was quite sound asleep on his chest, hair untied and draped half over his face. Jareth opened his mouth, thinking about waking him up… then decided against it. Zolf’s hands were in front of his face, the bandages still wrapped around his palms. He’d had a big day yesterday.

Jareth arched his head back at the sound of footsteps. “Isaac. You’re up early.”

“Mm.” Isaac looked down at the two of them. “You know I don’t approve.”

“And you know I don’t give a rat’s ass. This isn’t the place to get hung up on moral shit.”

“Ah. You think it’s –“ Isaac cut himself off, beginning to move away.

Jareth narrowed his eyes, then reached forward, grabbing his ankle. “Don’t you do that. What are you grouching about?”

“I don’t mind your affairs. I wish you had picked another person.”

“Like a girl?”

“Like quite literally anybody else, Valjean.”

Jareth let go of Isaac’s ankle, trying to pretend it didn’t rankle. “Still don’t know what your problem is. Actually, to be honest, I don’t care. Take it somewhere else.”

“Fair enough.” Then Isaac disappeared outside, gun in hand, ready to secure the perimeter and take over the watch from Diana.

Jareth sighed, and lowered his head – only to find himself looking into a pair of amber eyes, half-lidded and still a touch glazed over. “…Oh, _now_ you wake up,” he teased, trying to cover up the thud in his chest.

“Mm. I like that you stand up for me.”

“I- oh, shaddup. I don’t like it when people are vague. Besides, it’s not his business.”

Zolf crinkled his nose. “Perhaps I should stop kissing you in front of him.” He paused. “No, he makes funny faces when he’s uncomfortable.”

Jareth stifled a laugh, then pressed a kiss to Zolf’s forehead. “You’re a _little_ evil.”

“I never pretended otherwise. You wouldn’t like me nearly so much if I was well-behaved.”

“Probably not. Please don’t get turned into a Zolfsicle, though.”

“But then you’d have to-“

“If you make a joke about getting licked, I will _bite you._ ”

The older man just shifted on his chest, not looking the _slightest_ bit remorseful. It was hard to remember that Zolf was older than him most of the time, honestly. It was the upper-class dandy thing, although they were trying hard to break him of that. It was mostly working, although Zolf glanced at his hands with a small frown before smoothing his face back into his still smile. “…Jareth.”

“Yeah?”

“The war will end eventually.”

“I mean, I have my doubts some days. But sure, yeah. What about it?”

Zolf just glanced away, then moved off of Jareth’s chest. He knew what Zolf wanted to say, but knew just as well that he’d never actually want to talk about it. He had a lot of faces he traded out like masks, and probably believed that Jareth didn’t keep track of them, tricked by the elaborate switching and swapping like everybody else. He’d say one thing, mean another, pull the rug out from under whoever he was talking to and move along like nothing had happened, claim he’d meant well or that it was all in good fun. It _was_ cruel, but once Jareth had realized that there really was something underneath the layers of artifice, he couldn’t take it personally.

“Mostly a reminder,” he said casually, stretching and not bothering to put his clothes on yet. “Although I’m inclined to agree. It feels like we’ll be here forever.”

Jareth leaned on his elbow, admiring Zolf without any shame. He’d had male lovers before, sure. He’d figured out that his passions leant both ways back in West City, in the bars and nightlife of the Ming Quarter and underneath the Waterfront bridges. But this was the first, well – He didn’t go in for extended relationships. Whatever it was he had with Diana, it was different. No less _important,_ but they didn’t go on dates, or entertain thoughts of a romantic future. Their lives were entangled, but in a way more complicated than any language had words for. And his other lovers had been either one-night stands or brief flings. He cared for them, certainly. He didn’t sleep with anybody he didn’t at least _like._

“You’re staring,” Zolf said, sounding almost embarrassed.

“Mhm.” Jareth sat up, and pulled Zolf towards him, pressing a kiss to his hip. Zolf could put on as many masks as he wanted – with no clothes on, his reaction was _very_ clear. “I’m tempted to put a tattoo of my own on you.”

“P-possessive of you.”

He bit down gently on the pale skin over Zolf’s hipbone. “That sounded like a dare.”

“Who’s really daring who here?” Thin fingers wove through his hair, and Jareth bit his lip to muffle a moan as Zolf tightened his grip –

Somebody cleared her throat at the doorway, and Jareth backed away in embarrassment. “Gentlemen.”

“Ah, Solaris.” Zolf didn’t look particularly embarrassed, although he did lean down and start pulling his trousers on. “Lovely timing as always.”

Diana just rolled her eyes, holstering her gun and clearly fighting a smile. “We have work to do. Save it for later.”

“Of course. Anything interesting on watch?”

Diana hesitated. “…Yes. That Ishvalan scholar. The skinny one. He’s watching us.”

Jareth’s eyebrows flew upwards. “Has he seen your face?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ve kept my scarf on every time I’ve been outside, and he doesn’t have anything more advanced than civvie binoculars. Still. Isaac thinks we should do something about him.”

“Directly?”

She shook her head. “I want to know what he knows. He’s one of the only people in this area who hasn’t been panicking or fighting back. He just hides out and then goes back to his work.”

Zolf leaned against the wall, chewing on his lip. “Well. Infiltration certainly isn’t going to be easy. None of us can pass for Ishvalan. Although…”

Diana gave him a curious look. “I don’t like it when you make that face, Zolf.”

“Hm. He’s unlikely to trust Amestrians, wouldn’t you say?”

“No _shit,_ ” Jareth grumbled. He wasn’t even _dressed_ yet, he thought with a groan as he pulled his tank top over his head.

“But you say he hasn’t seen your face. And if he has, it’s been at a distance.”

“Yes,” Diana said hesitantly-

“ _Absolutely not,_ ” Jareth interrupted. “No, _no,_ that’s an _awful idea._ ”

“How come?” Zolf asked. “Come now, we can’t still be pretending the two of you are pure Amestrian stock.”

“You don’t have to put it that way,” Diana grumbled. The comment had clearly stung.

“I apologize. Let me phrase it differently.” Zolf drummed his fingers on his arm. “You aren’t a foreigner, Solaris. But you _look_ like one. Why not use it?”

Diana chewed on her lip. “…I’m not exactly particularly Xingese either, Zolf.”

“No, but is _he_ going to know the difference?”

Shit. That was a good point. It didn’t matter how weird Di felt about not being Xingese enough. How much was an Ishvalan man going to know about it? She could use terrible Xingese all she wanted. Was he going to know the difference? She could say anything she wanted. Even use the idea of bad Amestrian stereotypes in her _favour._ Certainly he’d believe her when it came to Amestrian racism, and enough of it would be close enough to the truth.

“It could work,” he admitted. “If you feel like you could do it.”

“You think I can’t?” she shot back.

That wasn’t it. He was just… worried. “I think you can. If you don’t _want_ to, I could try. But I’m even less Xingese than you are. At least you know _something_ about it. I got pretty eyes and tan easy, that’s about it.”

Isaac had entered the room a while back, Jareth realized. He hadn’t noticed. “Hm. I _had_ wondered. Do you have a name you can use?”

“…Yes,” Diana admitted. “Somebody I used to know. Kwan Faa Bin.”

Jareth stiffened a little – but she knew what she was doing. There was no shortage of Kwans in Amestris. It was like trying to track down a Smith or a Johnson.

“Well, I’m in favour of it,” Isaac said after a moment, “as loath as I am to agree with Zolf on anything.”

Zolf just gave Isaac a cheeky smile. “Sometimes I have good ideas.”

“I’ll let you get the credit if it works out.” Isaac clapped his hand onto Diana’s shoulder. “Sounds like a consensus to me. Take a day or two to work out the background and setup. Valjean, come with me and we’ll map out a path for her to come from the East, confuse any sentries.”

He nodded, and got to his feet. Zolf moved to come with him, but Diana grabbed his arm. “I’ll need your help.”

“ _My_ help?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” she sighed. “It was your idea.”

_The war will end eventually._ Zolf had said that in the fall of 1907. Maybe it had been a coincidence. Maybe among all of his other traits was a predilection towards foreseeing disaster. Either way, when Jareth remembered the taste of Zolf’s skin, even though it was a false memory, he kept tasting blood and gunpowder mixed in with his sweat.

* * *

Six years in prison hadn’t changed Kimbley as much as Jareth thought it would. Certainly his uniform didn’t fit as well as it used to – it was loose in places where it had fit snugly before, and there was a drawn look to his cheeks that betrayed the sparse rations and lack of sunlight. All of this had been there when Kimbley had visited him before. He’d just refused to pay that much attention. This time, though…

Amue was giving him another look. He’d finally told her everything he was holding back this morning, including as much as he could bear about Black Ops and the people he’d left off the list. The facts, at least. So she knew that Kimbley was one of his past lovers. “You’re staring,” she murmured, and it resonated so much with what he was remembering that he sat back, almost stung by it.

“Sorry.”

She just scrutinized him in that owlish way she had. It was fascinating how much she looked like Sander and acted like Olivier, with a streak of quick thinking all her own. “You’ve been subjected to my brother’s, ah, grand speeches before.”

“That didn’t sound like a question.”

She laughed a little. “It _wasn’t._ He does it to everybody.”

“You don’t agree?”

“I _do,_ I just…” She inspected her nails. “Sander’s the idealist. It nearly broke him in Ishval – it’s why we’re so protective of him.” There was a little bit of savageness in her voice there, and Jareth couldn’t help the twinge of guilt. No wonder she was so angry that he’d kept back the details about his Black Ops work. He’d been responsible for worsening the war that had destroyed Sander’s career. He’d tried to explain to her that he hadn’t _known –_ but he wouldn’t blame Amue, really, if she was holding it against him. “He can wax poetic about the power of love all he wants, I’m still unmarriageable.”

“Harsh.”

“If anybody marries me, it’s for my money. I’ve made peace with that. Not the point I was trying to make.” She flicked her eyes over at Kimbley, then back at him. “…Love really _does_ make you stupid, huh?”

He found a flush rising to his face, and managed to fight it back, leaning back in his seat and staring straight ahead and trying to ignore her. She wasn’t _wrong._ It was a _habit_ of his. “I’m not Sander.”

“I didn’t say you were. I do love that part where he expounds on how love can change anything through its great and terrible force. I’m fairly certain he’s quoting something, but the reference is lost on most people.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m not the one who was making puppy eyes at a convicted murderer, Valjean,” she murmured back, so lowly that nobody else would have heard it, but he still had the sudden urge to punch her.

“ _Don’t._ ”

“Hm?”

“It’s-“ He really didn’t want to get into this. “Just drop it. Please.”

She looked a little surprised. Then she nodded, whatever else she had meant to say abandoned for the moment. She glanced over to the opposite door – “Who on earth is _that?_ ”

Jareth leaned past her, looking over. The person being led in was familiar, even though he couldn’t place him – young, maybe in his early twenties, with combed-back blonde hair and a Major’s uniform. The bailiff had him in cuffs, but after a glare from the judge, he sulkily unlocked them, and the young man rubbed his wrists –

One of which was steel.

It clicked, and Jareth stared up at the young man’s face. He returned the stare – and smirked, sticking out his tongue. “ _Will?_ ” Then a surge of anger boiled up in his chest. He nearly got up, but Amue yanked him down, holding him in his seat. “They cut his fucking _hair,_ ” he seethed.

“I don’t think that’s worth risking your life and liberty for, Valjean.”

“You don’t _understand,_ ” he protested. “Will _loves_ his hair. It’s –“ He didn’t know how to explain it, because it wasn’t the kind of thing Will had ever put into words before. Honestly, Jareth wasn’t sure he’d _ever_ cut it. At twelve, it had already been past his shoulders – at sixteen, at least before he’d left, it had been halfway down his back. “And they have him in a goddamn uniform.”

“Yes. Like everybody else.”

He gave up. Amue was being entirely reasonable. And it wasn’t even that Will looked bad – but he looked like a complete stranger. Only the little smirk and the automail felt anything like the person he knew.

“This does change things,” Amue said consideringly.

“How?”

“Well, to be honest, I was fairly sure Archer was going to go after Fullmetal’s unusual habits. Now he’s down a playing card.” Amue crossed her arms. “Now we just see who goes up first.”

Godfrey glanced between the two witnesses. Then he leaned back. “Summoning Lieutenant-Colonel Zolf J. Kimbley, Crimson Lotus Alchemist, to the stand.”

Almost immediately, everybody in the courtroom started whispering to each other. Jareth tried not to listen. He’d heard enough about Zolf. He was smart enough to stop defending him after what he’d done – even though that urge still reared up in his chest sometimes, when he was tired and sad and hurting. He’d claimed for years, _he’s not as bad as you think he is,_ only to be proven wrong. Anybody would be sore.

Kimbley didn’t react to any of the whispers, walking up to the stand and settling into place with his usual careless flair. The hint of stubble on his cheeks and the rumpled front of his shirt would look accidental to others, but Jareth knew perfectly well that Kimbley didn’t do anything accidentally. He was just as much of a dandy as before, just one who’d decided he liked a touch of grime to finish the look. He would have been flattered – _had_ been flattered – if it wasn’t retrospectively also really condescending.

Amue and Archer traded glances, and he stifled a snicker. _Neither_ of them wanted to be the first. But Archer wasn’t going to concede to a woman, so he straightened his collar and stepped forward. “Please state your name for the court.”

“I’m sure they heard the judge just fine.”

“For confirmation, please.”

“Alright. Zolf J. Kimbley.”

“What does the J stand for?”

“…Is this relevant?” When Archer just lifted an eyebrow, Kimbley sat back and waved his hand carelessly. “Jaegerkind.”

Archer blinked, suddenly nonplussed. “Really?”

“My father had high expectations. I appear to have met them, at least in that respect.”

Jareth tried not to roll his eyes, especially when Amue opened his mouth questioningly at him. “He’s serious.”

“Zolf _Jaegerkind Kimbley_?”

“There’s a reason he keeps it as J.”

Archer cleared his throat, regaining his composure. “When did you first meet the defendant?”

“Oh, I don’t remember the year, but when we were assigned to Unit 2 of Special Forces.”

“I see.”

“I could do the math if you want. I mostly remember it through ages. I’m – let’s see – three years or so older than him, I think. He’s bigger than me, though.”

“Yes, the defendant’s height has been the source of a lot of humour so far. It’s getting old,” Archer grumbled.

“Oh, that’s not what I meant.” Kimbley leaned forward and _leered_ at Archer.

Motherfucker. Jareth sunk down in his chair, tried to disappear under the table, and wondered why he’d thought _anything_ good was going to come of putting Kimbley on the stand.

Archer stammered, suddenly completely speechless. You could have heard a pin drop in the courtroom – and it was broken by a smothered laugh, from _someone._ Archer glared over his shoulder, clearly trying to catch the culprit, but no luck. “Wh-“ He cleared his throat. “When did you meet Maes Hughes?”

“Only briefly. I think maybe the once, before my trial. He seemed nice.”

“Mmhm.” Archer still sounded a little strangled. Good god. Jareth would have almost enjoyed this if Kimbley wasn’t on a path to get him _fucking shot._ He’d love to pretend that embarrassing Archer was worth it, but he liked living. Living had a lot of upsides. And if he was going to die, this was _not_ going to be how. It’d be from alcohol poisoning or too much sex or something else equally awesome. “And – um – What is your personal opinion on the relationship between Maes Hughes and the defendant?”

“They definitely weren’t fucking.”

“Kimbley, you’ll keep a civil tongue in this courtroom or I’ll cut it out,” Godfrey warned. He seemed just as thrown off as anybody else.

“Yes, Your Honor. They definitely weren’t having sex.”

“Why do you, uh – Why do you say that?”

Kimbley grinned. “Because I was Jareth’s lover for almost three years. Personally, I can’t see him going for somebody so _dull._ Although the little mousy librarian is a surprise.”

Jareth put his face in his hands. So much for his defense.

“Um. Hm. Jareth? Any ideas?”

“I got nothing, Amue. Maybe the ‘he’s just a homo who doesn’t have sex’ wasn’t a great angle, I dunno.”

“It’d work _fine_ if you hadn’t put your dick in a _sociopath._ ”

“Be fair,” he complained weakly. “He’s usually a convenient sociopath.”

Archer took a few moments, slicking back his hair, undoing the top bottom of his uniform and unclenching his jaw. That wasn’t a great sign. Jareth remembered that little set of gestures, the steadying of his mask. Amue wouldn’t be happy with him if the Grant Haberkorn stuff came up, but he doubted it would, only because Archer would be risking his own career if it did. But that also meant he hadn’t told her some of the darker memories he had of Archer. He’d seen him almost beat a man to death before, then do that exact same set of gestures as he walked away, cool and composed. There was a reason the Halky had loved him.

“So, you’re openly admitting to being in a homosexual relationship with the defendant.”

“Not sure what other kind it would be.”

“You realize that you aren’t protected from the consequences of your own criminality.”

“I’m fully aware,” Kimbley replied, smiling. “I’ve already spent six years in prison. What’s another ten? Although, of course, I was released for a reason.”

“I’m very curious as to that reason, actually. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell the court?”

“That’s classified.”

“Then I’d like to request-“

“No,” Kimbley interrupted. Archer scowled at him, knuckles cracking under his folder.

“New question, then. _Why_ reveal this information? What do you seek to gain from outing the defendant?”

“I thought it was perfectly obvious. I’m pleading his innocence.”

“By proving his guilt?”

“He didn’t kill Maes Hughes, Archer,” Kimbley said with a bored tone. “He’s an overly moralistic, big-hearted puppy dog of a coward who has eighty confirmed kills and was miserable about every single one of them. I’m sure you brought me up here to prove something about how he’s a heartless murderer, but he’s not actually very _good_ at it.”

“Bit harsh,” Jareth mumbled.

“Complain all you want, Jareth,” Kimbley commented, and Jareth started, surprised at being directly addressed, “but just because you’re good at shooting people doesn’t mean you appreciate the actual art of a good killing. Also, I took a look at some of the case files-“

“You’re not supposed to have _access_ to those,” Archer interrupted.

“Don’t interrupt, it’s very rude. Shooting somebody with their own gun works, but it’s a subpar assassination, really. Absolutely artless. If you want, I can show the court how it _should_ be done, if you’ll just supply the materials-“

“ _Enough!_ ” Godfrey shouted. He slammed his mallet down, but he looked liable to use it on Kimbley’s head. “Miss Armstrong, unless you have any particularly pertinent questions for Kimbley, I’d like him removed from the courtroom.”

“Only the one, sir.”

“Get it over with.”

She stood up. “Where were you on the night of June 5th, or the early hours of June 6th?”

Kimbley blinked at her, then smiled, spreading his hands. “Still in prison.”

“And the guards there can testify that you were still there?”

“…If they were paying attention, yes. Where is this going?”

“Hmm. It seems to me, Lieutenant-Colonel Kimbley, that if we’re talking about issues of jealousy and wanting what you can’t have, I’d be more inclined to look towards the man who’s been imprisoned until very recently. Of course, I can’t really comment, without asking your perspective.” She put her hands behind her back. “Has it been hard, watching the man you love walking around free with lovers of his own, while you rot alone in prison, a victim of your own choices?”

Most of the courtroom probably couldn’t see the difference. He changed out masks so freely, after all. But Jareth could see it. The cold, rigid air around him – the way the smile on his face was brittle, infused with a fierce anger. “A lovely theory. But it was an affair, not a love story.”

“I see. The defense rests.”

Jareth narrowed his eyes, watching Amue walk away and back towards him – and behind her, Archer approaching just a little too close to the witness stand, perhaps to hiss a threat, some other method of intimidation.

Too close.

Nobody had kept track of Kimbley’s hands.

Kimbley suddenly lunged forward, slamming his palms into Archer back, then shoved him at Amue. “ _Catch!_ ” he snarled.

Instinct kicked in. Jareth leapt over the table and caught Archer by the arms before Amue could shove him away. “Stay. _Still._ ”

“Take your hands off-“

“Frank,” he said lowly. “He just transmuted you.”

“Into what?”

“You read his file.”

Archer suddenly went deathly silent, the color draining from his face.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Godfrey stood up. “Valjean, unhand him-“

“Your Honor,” Jareth said as evenly as he could manage, “please evacuate as much of this courtroom as you can. The Fuhrer in particular. Bailiff, cuff the Crimson Lotus alchemist and remove him from the premises.”

“What…”

“Godfrey, sir, you presided over Kimbley’s trial six years ago. He’s just transmuted Archer into an explosive.”

Godfrey’s eyes widened, and he turned to Kimbley. “Bailiff. Follow Valjean’s orders.”

“But-“

“ _Now._ ”

Jareth glanced over to Hawkeye and the Fuhrer. She was already setting about his orders. “I need Solaris and Fullmetal.”

“You conniving-“ Archer snarled.

“I didn’t plan this, Frank.”

“Stop calling me Frank.”

“You don’t gotta lot of room to negotiate right now.” He glanced over at Amue. “You should go too.”

She shook her head, although she was sitting down shakily. “I feel a little… lightheaded.”

“Kimbley just tried to kill you. I don’t blame you.”

“Why on _earth_ would you sleep with him?”

“Can that not be the topic right now?”

“I’m trying to distract myself,” Amue murmured.

“S-so what’s happening to me?” Archer asked, sounding almost vulnerable. It was weird to hear, although Jareth supposed even the worst people in the world had moments of weakness. He was glad to see that Will was coming over from one door, and Diana from the back, so Will would hear the explanation and Diana could fill in any gaps.

“Most of the elements of gunpowder exist in the human body, just in a different proportion. Kimbley specializes in compressing the correct ratio into an explosive somewhere in your body. Usually your chest. He likes the way it looks when it blows up.”

“He’s _crazy,_ ” Archer babbled.

“Yeah, there’s a reason he was in prison. Letting him out was a _really_ bad idea,” Jareth grumbled, mostly to himself. “The problem is, I can’t reverse it.”

“What? But-“

“I said _I_ can’t reverse it,” Jareth clarified. “I’m not an alchemist.”

“Right. I knew that,” Archer breathed. “Of course you don’t have the _useful_ skill.”

“Watch your mouth. I could just tie you up, put a cigarette in your mouth and run like hell.”

“You wouldn’t,” Archer protested – then paused. “Don’t you dare.”

“Say the magic word,” Jareth couldn’t help it. After a glare from Amue, he conceded. “No, I’m not going to let you _blow up,_ Frank. For one, it’d be a mess. And they’d probably pin that murder on me too.”

Diana exhaled, then stared between the two of them. “Did he _really?_ ”

“Kimbley? Oh yeah. Hey, Will.”

“Hey,” he said a little breathlessly. “…Aw, no, not this shit again.”

“ _Again?_ ” Diana said in horror.

“Yeah, Kimbley pulled this on a soldier when he was bringing me here,” Will said, sounding both disgusted and scared. “Transmuted him without him knowing then told him to go have a smoke to calm down. Next thing I knew, _boom._ ”

“Oh, god. No, that… that sounds like him,” Diana groaned. “Whose idea was it to let him out?”

“Mustang,” Jareth replied dryly.

“Ah. Yes. Scooch over, let me see.”

Jareth lifted one of his arms, still holding Archer steady, while Diana leaned in to figure out what she could do. Then he said quietly, “I missed you.”

Diana didn’t reply, but her cheeks turned a distinct shade of pink.

“I can’t believe I have to listen to you two. _Again,_ ” Archer snarled.

“Suck it, Frank, we’re saving your life. For some suicidal reason,” Diana snapped.

Jareth looked up, and for the first time, noticed the little blonde woman who’d followed Diana – who was writing everything down. “Who the hell are _you?_ ”

“Clara Severin, Central Gazette!”

“Oh, _god._ Are you the one who’s been writing that trash in the newspaper?”

“It’s not _trash,_ ” she protested. “It’s – oh, hi, Will!”

“Hey, Clara. I like the haircut.”

“I can’t say the same,” she replied, wrinkling her nose. “It’s very… _boy._ ”

“I _am_ a boy,” Will protested, rather unconvincingly. “Besides, I was all set to testify.”

“Hold up. You two know each other?”

Will shrugged. “I mean, _know_ seems like a strong term. She robbed me. Like, three times, actually.”

“And _you_ beat me up! Poor little old me,” Clara sniffed, bringing a handkerchief to her eyes.

Diana gave a sigh of relief. “Okay. I think I’ve got it. Only downside, it’s going to take about a half an hour to take effect, so we’ll keep the courtroom evacuated and monitor you for that time. Amue, why don’t you let the courtroom guards know they can come in, in about… five minutes or so?”

Amue nodded quietly. Archer still looked terrified, but Diana drew an array on one of Amue’s spare pads, and pressed it to his chest with a glow of blue light. “…Is it done? Can I breathe?”

“You can breathe, but you still can’t move. I think Jareth can let go of you now, though.”

Jareth released Archer’s shoulder. “…I still shouldn’t hit him, though. Right?”

“ _No,_ Jareth.”

“Considering what the two of you did to me _last_ time,” Archer replied savagely, “a punch would be a mercy.”

Diana managed to flutter her eyelashes. “I don’t suppose a heartfelt apology would do.”

“Eh, he’s talking about two different people anyway. He’s got no proof.”

“Aside from your smug faces, irritating overconfidence, absolutely disgusting promiscuity, lax moral code, depraved taste for people of loose character and _appalling_ sense of humour?” Archer spat.

Jareth didn’t have much to say to that. It was mostly true, anyway.

“I dunno what he’s on about,” Will interjected, “but every time he opens his mouth, I just get so, _so_ much more curious. What did you _do_ to him?”

Jareth moved away from Archer. He probably should have been asking about Clara. Instead, he put a hand to Will’s face, unable to stop grinning. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“That’s _my_ line,” Will complained, a faint blush appearing on his face. He crossed his arms. “Apparently I can’t leave y’all alone for five minutes.”

“Oh, well. I guess you need to stick around more.”

Will really _was_ blushing. That was probably a bad thing, even if it didn’t feel like one.

Diana cleared her throat. “If we can take the, oh, five minutes we have before we’re being watched by everyone again? I would love to have a full reunion again – _and_ to talk about Will’s hair –“

“Oh, shut up.”

“-but we don’t have time. This trial isn’t going well.”

“I don’t get the point of it,” Will said. “I thought this was about Hughes.”

“It’s supposed to be, but it’s mostly about convincing the jury.”

Jareth sighed, rubbing his cheek. “Yeah. I mean, it’s great that the courtroom’s on my side more or less. But the jury’s all Generals.”

“Mustachios, right?” Will asked.

He _did_ smile at that. “Yeah. Stiff and starched. Kimbley’s little stunt there is pretty much sealing things.”

“There’s got to be _something_ we can do,” Will said.

“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.” Diana chewed on her lip. “It’s you, then me, then Gracia. And then Jareth is the last person on the stand. I think between us we can convince the jury.”

“And if we don’t?” Will looked so concerned for him. _Not just for me,_ Jareth corrected. Will’s situation wasn’t any better. Just because he looked good now didn’t mean it was natural.

“We’ll…” Diana sagged a little. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

That probably meant she had a plan and just wasn’t sharing it. But he was just as happy to wish for a good result and hope desperately that they wouldn’t have to worry about a bad one.

Clara leaned in. “I would _love_ an interview with some of you-“

“Alright, _fess up,_ ” Diana snarled. “You’ve been hounding me since the first day of the trial. Truth. Now.”

Clara held up her hands defensively. “I swear! I swear I’m-“

“Colonel, I _gave_ you that report. I know my handwriting’s trash, but come on.”

She squinted at Will. “Which _one._ ”

He cleared his throat. “This is Clara. The thief. From my report.”

Jareth had read Will’s reports too – and then it clicked. He nudged Diana. “Aquroya.”

“… _Oh._ ” Then she glared at Clara all the more fiercely. “And what good is your reporting doing?”

“Don’t you trust me?” She batted her eyelashes.

“Will’s report doesn’t cast you in the best light.”

Clara sulked a little at that. “How mean. He even copped a feel and everything-“

“ _I did not,_ ” Will interrupted in horror. “It was an _accident._ But I can vouch for it probably having a point. Probably.”

The guards were coming back in. Will backed off from the rest of them, and Diana turned back to Archer. Jareth sat back down next to Amue – and Clara leaned over, still clearly hoping for an interview. Her shirt wasn’t unbuttoned all the way, he noticed. Well, if Will really had copped a feel, he couldn’t blame him.

“Can I move yet?” Archer asked. “It hasn’t been half an hour yet, right?”

“Hmm…” Diana waited until the photographers were back in the room. Jareth tried to keep his face straight. “Let’s check.” Then she gave Archer a _shove._

 _I’m going to pay for that later,_ Jareth thought. But the shriek of terror Archer made, and the face that the cameras managed to preserve forever, was _absolutely_ worth it. It was on page 2, as a continuation of the headline story. _EXPLOSIVE NIGHTMARE AVERTED BY UNLIKELY HEROES,_ it said. Maybe it wouldn’t convince the stern-faced, biased jury. But it was a nice change.

* * *

Pride had, despite what Hawkeye thought, actually been listening to her. So when Godfrey stormed into Mustang’s office, clearly furious, he set aside his spite at Mustang long enough to know that it was a problem for _all_ of them.

“Sir, with all due respect, this trial has become a joke. I’m calling it off immediately.”

“Calling it off?” Mustang raised his eyebrow. “He’s been charged, Godfrey. I don’t know how you think this works.”

“There’s plenty of precedent for dropping charges, Fuhrer, sir. And I’ve seen absolutely no hard evidence. I _have_ seen an awful lot of terrible behaviour from witnesses and prosecution alike. And today is just…” He shook his head, clearly distraught. “By the time you have a witness attempting murder on _both_ the prosecution and defense, I think it’s time to re-evaluate.”

Pride’s eyebrows just about flew off his head. “Well, I clearly chose the wrong day to not show up. Or the right day.”

Hawkeye glanced at him, then grimaced. “Kimbley.”

“Oh. Oh _dear._ ”

Mustang stroked his chin. “You might have a point, but I simply can’t abide by the idea of dropping the charges. Perhaps we can close and go immediately to a verdict? No, that won’t do. The jury will get suspicious.”

“Suspicious?” Godfrey echoed – then he scowled. “Fuhrer, _sir,_ I won’t take part in any tampering.”

“Don’t worry. I wasn’t talking to you.”

Pride sighed. “Why did I know this was coming?”

“I’d blame it on you, but Fullmetal didn’t even do anything,” Mustang admitted, almost _sorely._ “Kimbley was my idea. Mea culpa. That one’s on me.”

“…You’re actually accepting _responsibility._ ”

“Yes.”

“Wow. Is it painful? Does it sting on contact?”

“No more than being in the same room as you.”

Pride narrowed his eyes at Mustang – who just grinned back. Hawkeye sighed, then drew her gun, and fired a bullet into the stunned and speechless Godfrey’s skull. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, and Pride gave him a little kick. He didn’t _like_ leaving a body count, but admittedly, Godfrey had been a cantankerous git. Also, he’d smelled of spinach and garlic, and that was weird. Then he took on Godfrey’s shape, pulling a face. It always felt weird taking on new forms, especially since he had to double-check some of the finer details. “Remind me _why_ we’re doing the gay angle, again?” he asked, trying to sound genuine in the spirit of Mustang actually being cooperative for once. He was still _pissed._ But maybe Mustang had a reason for it. Who knew? “Last time I checked, you weren’t particularly pressed on what gender anybody fucked. Unless _that’s_ why you have a stick up your ass about me.”

“No, no, definitely not. I just think you’re annoying.”

“You know what? I-“ Pride caught Hawkeye’s face. “-will take that under advisement. Keep talking.”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me.”

“And probably the last. Will you get to the _point?_ ”

Mustang rolled his eyes. “Did you want me to draft an entirely _new_ law to pin it convincingly on Valjean? Made-up evidence doesn’t hold up well, and besides, that generates a lot of weak links – links that lead right back to me. And if he was assassinated out of nowhere, Solaris and Elric would just become all the more determined to hunt me down. That just leads to _more_ of us dead, which I don’t _think_ any of us want.” He gave Pride a notable glance at that one, but didn’t actually say it out loud.

“So how’s an obvious circus of a trial any better?”

“I didn’t _make_ humans bigots. But it’s awfully convenient, isn’t it?” Mustang laughed. “I don’t have to actually buy into their bigotry to manipulate it. In fact, I’ve given a number of quotes to that little reporter lamenting how I wish I could change the hearts and minds of a country. How tragic, that my hands are tied by the machinery of democracy. The trial proceeds, Valjean dies, everybody’s either upset about homosexuals or protesting him as a martyr, and I can use the excuse to sweep away the last little annoying bits of democratic nonsense, abolish the Wilde Act, and they’ll be too busy lauding me as a hero to realize they have no power left until it’s too late.”

Pride stared at Mustang in horror. It was clever. It was _horribly_ clever. It was disgusting. “…I fucking hate you.”

“I know,” he replied. “But you’re going to help me anyway. Because it helps the plan.”

“All of this for more _power?_ Over a country that’ll be _gone_ in a year?”

Mustang shrugged. “Oh, who knows what’ll happen? But certainly having tighter control on the country doesn’t seem like a _bad_ thing, Pride. And I’d rather a populace who didn’t realize that they’re sheep for the slaughter.”

“I – I suppose.”

“Now be a good boy and…” Mustang paused. There was a noise from outside, growing louder and louder.

Pride moved over to the window. Then – he couldn’t help it – he began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

“I think there’s a hole in your plan, oh great dictator.”

Diana had said herself – although Pride hadn’t heard it – that there were an awful lot of queer people in the military. Not all of them were part of the trial, but all of them had heard about it, mostly through Clara’s reporting. Nobody had really put it together yet – not Diana, not Jareth, _certainly_ not Mustang – but no story spread faster than a controversial one. People liked bad news. People liked reading about sex, and depravity, and murder. It kept them paying attention. It kept them talking, even when they disagreed. _Especially,_ actually, when they disagreed.

And in the case of about sixty percent of Central Command’s soldiers and staff, they’d decided to show their disagreement by simply walking out.


	48. 1937

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: homophobia and transphobia discussed, homophobic murder/violence discussed, (mild) homophobic violence on screen, violence/threats against protesters, incest discussed, dysphoria, implied PTSD/trauma reaction, lobotomy threat, internalized homophobia, emetophobia/bodily fluids (minor/mostly smell-related), sexual harassment (…kind of? certainly I would call it a very creepy comment)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOF long chapter. Also, god, given the context of Mustang and Envy in Brotherhood, this was inevitable but still very ouchy to write.
> 
> Song is by Pussy Riot, originally in Russian which is important so I’ve put both the original and the translation. Also, at the time of writing this, there are massive anti-Putin protests in Russia in support of Alexei Navalny, basically the only opposition currently with any power against Putin. (And that’s not saying a whole lot.) While I’ve mostly been talking about Trump, I think it’s also crucially important to mention that Mustang here pulls from much more successful dictators, and Putin is a pretty notable and terrifying example of that.
> 
> This is a pretty sobering chapter in a lot of ways – while there’s a good chunk of humour mixed in, it’s really hard to get away from the reality of things like gay/trans panic murders, forced surgery on and abuse/neglect of mentally ill patients and jailing of protestors. I really do think it’s interesting, though, that none of this is really that much of a tonal shift from the 03 series at least, and even parts of BH touch on things close to this bleak; it’s just that neither of them get into the queer end of it.
> 
> The song that Jareth is referencing having performed and that Maes wrote in this universe is ‘Money Money’ from Cabaret – not actually a period piece, but it sounds enough like one to function beautifully as one.
> 
> Georgie’s slang is impenetrable as always xD If you need a translation, do ask, but I’m semi-deliberately leaving most of it untranslated – a lot of it is obvious from context and I think it adds to the humour if you aren’t entirely sure what he’s saying. The one exception is the term ‘nonnied’ which isn’t actually Scouse, although it certainly sounds like it could be; it’s short for ‘anonymous’ and is actually modern slang that doesn’t sound out of place at all in the context of a rent boy protecting his identity.
> 
> Finally, re: Mustang and Will. Without giving it away, I would like to stress that this scene, more than anything else with Mustang, is pulled directly from an interaction between the two characters. If it makes you uncomfortable, that’s fair, but please cast your eyes to the interaction in question and note that it’s… deeply uncomfortable there, too.

~48~

_1-9-3-7 я себя я себя я себя ем  
1-9-3-7 я боюсь я боюсь я боюсь стен  
1-9-3-7 я твоя я твоя я твоя тень  
1-9-3-7 нет меня нет меня нет проблем_

_-_

_1-9-3-7 I'm eating I'm eating I'm eating myself  
1-9-3-7 i'm afraid i'm afraid i'm afraid of the walls   
1-9-3-7 I'm yours I'm yours I'm your shadow   
1-9-3-7 no me - no problems_

**-1937**

_In a stunning turn of events at the courthouse today, defendant and accused murderer Jareth Valjean_ saved _lives today after a witness turned a lawyer into a human explosive. The lawyer, prosecution Frank Archer, survived unscathed due to Valjean’s quick thinking and the alchemic help of both Colonel Diana Solaris and Major William Elric, two other witnesses of the trial._

_The perpetrator of this terrifying act was none other than the infamous Crimson Lotus Alchemist, previously imprisoned for his destruction of Central-East Locomotive Line 3 and the deaths of its passenger. With a sudden and unforeseen transmutation, he turned Lieutenant-Colonel Archer into an explosive, and shoved him at defense Amue Armstrong, clearly intending to kill both of them – and take, possibly, most of the courthouse with them._

_In recognition of his act of heroism – swooping in between his lawyer and the prosecution to prevent a massive detonation – we’ve managed to get Jareth Valjean himself for an interview. Read it below!_

**SEVERIN:** It’s good to have you here, Valjean! How are you feeling?

**VALJEAN:** Pretty nervous, honestly. And please, call me Jareth. You’re not a soldier, _and_ you’re cute.

**SEVERIN:** Oh, _my,_ flirting already?

**VALJEAN:** It’s second nature!

**SEVERIN:** Down to brass tacks, though. How did you know what was going to happen?

**VALJEAN:** This came up in the trial, but Kimbley and I worked together during the war. I know his attack style pretty well, and his alchemy. More than that, I know what pisses him off. So when I saw him putting his hands on Archer, I knew _something_ was wrong.

**SEVERIN:** Oh goodness. How does it work?

**VALJEAN:** He’s got circles tattooed on his hands. Not full circles – that’s what tricks people. See, you can’t have actual arrays tattooed on you. It’s too dangerous. But partial ones are fine, and if he uses them together, they become a functional alchemic array, and he can shift around the elements in your body. Basically, he makes part of you a bomb.

**SEVERIN:** …That’s terrifying. I don’t like that.

**VALJEAN:** He’s unpopular.

**SEVERIN:** You know a lot about alchemy. I didn’t expect that.

**VALJEAN:** Ahaha, it’s mostly coincidence. I’m not an alchemist, but I keep working with alchemists. The Flame Alchemist in particular, but between Flame, Fullmetal, Freezer and Lotus, it’d be hard not to know at least the basics by now.

**SEVERIN:** From the sounds of it too, you were pretty close with Kimbley.

**VALJEAN:** …It’s, er, complicated.

**SEVERIN:** Take your time.

**VALJEAN:** We were pretty close friends, yeah. And Kimbley is – well, he’s quite happily outed himself. But he meant a lot to me.

**SEVERIN:** In the-

**VALJEAN:** In whatever sense you want to take it. Don’t take _him_ at face value, though, he enjoys pissing people off too much. I had no idea what he was going to do to that train, and that was bad enough. And then he escaped execution by turning over the rest of Black Ops as traitors, and…

**SEVERIN:** That must have been difficult. Do you think he lied?

**VALJEAN:** I dunno anything about it. Which kind of makes me feel stupid, but I’m well shot of all of that treason business. But I can’t decide if I was relieved he wasn’t dead or upset that he’d managed it.

**SEVERIN:** Oh dear. So there’s a lot of bitter feeling going on – in _both_ directions, from what I heard today.

**VALJEAN:** Absolutely. I can’t decide if he’s trying to get me killed or save my lie. Funnily enough, I don’t know if he knows either.

**SEVERIN:** He just sort of does whatever he wants, doesn’t he?

**VALJEAN:** Oh, god, you have _no_ idea.

**SEVERIN:** I also wanted to ask you about Maes Hughes. I know you’ll be on the stand yourself soon, but I’d love to get the _exclusive_ scoop.

**VALJEAN:** Don’t call it the exclusive scoop and you’ve got a deal.

**SEVERIN:** Yes, sir.

**VALJEAN:** Maes and I were… god, I hate using past tense. I mean, we were best friends. I think we were thirteen when we met? Little podunk town in the middle of nowhere in the West, and he wandered in on me getting picked on. I was pretty big even back then, but I didn’t know how to fight. So he just stole half their s---, threw it in the river, and told me to run like hell.

**SEVERIN:** Oh, wow. Friends for life, definitely.

**VALJEAN:** [laughs] Want to know the best part? He was _stunned_ when he found out I was his age. He thought I was some adult getting mugged. Tells you a lot about him, huh?

**SEVERIN:** It _does._ How on earth did he mistake you for an adult at thirteen, though?

**VALJEAN:** I know everybody and their dog’s made jokes about my height by now, but the thing you gotta know is that nobody gets this tall _slowly._ I think I’d already hit six feet at that point. Strong, too.

**SEVERIN:** Oh… oh _my._

 **VALJEAN:** I get that reaction a lot. Maes kept making me _carry_ him places. To be fair, he was scrawny for years. All those photos you’ve been printing with those big shoulders – he got those in the academy. He was a _brat_ before that.

**SEVERIN:** So you kept each other out of trouble.

**VALJEAN:** Absolutely. Not… always _successfully._

**SEVERIN:** Oh, oh, _please_ share. Please?

**VALJEAN:** Geez, geez, don’t twist my arm or nothin’. Uh, so I don’t think Gracia will be super fond of me sharing this – Gracia Hughes, his wife – but maybe she’ll laugh. Maes, Colonel Solaris and I were all at the academy together. And we actually got drawn up on disciplinary action as a group… only the once, I think? That I remember, anyway.

**SEVERIN:** Don’t leave me in suspense! What was it for?

**VALJEAN:** Uh, so Maes wrote songs sometimes. Silly ones. Sometimes they were just off the top of his head, you know? I wish I could remember the version of Show Me The Way to Go Home he did once but it wasn’t appropriate for mixed company anyway.

**SEVERIN:** Solaris doesn’t count?

**VALJEAN:** Try saying no to her for anything. But this one in particular, Solaris and I performed it at one of the off-campus bars, and as it would happen, one of the prefects tattled. The General wasn’t happy.

**SEVERIN:** Well, surely it couldn’t have been that bad?

**VALJEAN:** One of the lyrics was “If you happen to be rich and you feel like a night's entertainment, you can pay for a gay escapade”. [Pause] Stop making that noise. It didn’t _mean_ that ten years ago. [Pauses again] Well, not _consistently._

**SEVERIN:** This is certainly a different side to the Brigadier-General than we’ve heard so far!

**VALJEAN:** He was a good guy! Listen, if the main thing somebody’s disciplined for is writing a cheeky song about being skint broke, that’s a _good_ thing.

**SEVERIN:** I don’t suppose you have the rest of the lyrics?

**VALJEAN:** God no. The Colonel’s already gonna have my head. [Rubs his neck] Maybe I shouldn’t make that joke.

**SEVERIN:** I’m sure it’ll be fine. I don’t believe for a _moment_ that you had anything to do with this murder, and I doubt the jury will either. I am so sorry for your loss, though. You lost a good friend.

**VALJEAN:** I did. And Gracia lost a good husband.

**SEVERIN:** In all this hubbub, I suppose you’ve barely had a chance to give your own opinions on anything. So tell me, Valjean – Jareth, sorry – how do you feel about the Wilde Act?

**VALJEAN:** Ugh. I think it’s outdated garbage. As far as I’m concerned, what people do with each other isn’t the state’s business. I’d comment on how we seem to think this is normal – but it _isn’t._ Before this case blew up, nobody gave a d---. Sure, some folks might get a bit suspicious of men or women who admitted to being bent, but there was none of this.

**SEVERIN:** And you aren’t uncomfortable around hom- sorry, ah, queer soldiers at all?

**VALJEAN:** Absolutely not. Why should I be? There’s more straight rapists in the military than gay ones. Ask the girls. They’ll tell you that.

**SEVERIN:** So you’re in favour of abolishing it.

**VALJEAN:** One thousand percent. Nobody’s ever been able to give me a good argument for making it illegal to be gay. It’s stupid, and it’s a waste of resources.

**SEVERIN:** Is there anything else you want to say to our readers?

**VALJEAN:** …I guess, uh. I don’t know. I don’t know if the people who actually need to hear this are reading your paper. But if they are… it’s gonna feel like you have a target on your back. Maybe you do. It might feel like there are people out to get you. And maybe there are. That doesn’t mean you stop. You don’t let ‘em win. You give the bastards a fight and you make sure that, no matter what else happens, they remember you.

* * *

Mustang gritted his teeth, strode out into the parade grounds, and folded his arms behind him. “What’s all this about, now?” he said in his usual deceptively-calm tone, but Hawkeye could see how one of his hands was curled into a fist behind his back. “An early lunch? A picnic?”

The soldiers and staff stood silently at first, but then he advanced towards them, and the ranks broke – not completely, but backing away from him. Plenty of people would whisper about him being old and feeble, trying to convince themselves of it – others would make jokes about his height or his almost bubbly demeanor. But there wasn’t a single person, it appeared, in the Amestrian military forces, who could quite make themselves unafraid of Fuhrer Mustang when it came down to looking him in the eye.

Hawkeye decided to be quietly proud of that for a moment, when a bold voice finally _did_ speak up. “This is a protest, sir.” Not unafraid. That part was still true. There was a waver in the woman’s voice, and the heartbeat that Hawkeye could see through Maria Ross’s chest was much, much faster than her steady features would lead any normal person would expect. She was terrified.

“A protest?” Mustang’s smile was grim, his ever-so-slightly-sharpened canines peeking out from under his lips. “And what, dear Lieutenant, are you _protesting?_ ”

Lieutenant Ross looked around for support, and the other soldiers and staff clustered a little closer to her. Still in rank – that was a nice touch. Even the support staff, who weren’t _really_ military personnel. She particularly recognized two of the nurses as the ones Pride had gotten fired with his little stunt with Will, which certainly didn’t bode well. “By allowing one of our own to be charged under the Wilde Act, you abandon the most loyal and faithful of your soldiers. If you want the gays and lesbians out of your military, Fuhrer, sir, so be it – but that means all of us, and their friends and their families. And frankly speaking…” Ross’s courage failed her for a moment. Then she stood up straighter, arms by her sides, practiced words ringing out as she raised her voice. “You need us, sir! You may be the head of the military, but we the rank and file are the strength, and we ask for your recognition and protection!”

Hawkeye felt, rather than saw, Pride coming up next to her. They were both watching to see what Mustang would do – and he’d been smart enough to switch to a different soldier for it, at least. “You have to admit,” he murmured to her, “that takes _stones._ ”

Mustang raised his hand and snapped a finger. The snipers he’d already put on stand-by readied themselves at the windows. “You think you aren’t _replaceable?_ How arrogant.”

“No, sir. I know I’m replaceable. The question is, how _many_ people are replaceable?”

Hawkeye kept watching Ross’s heartbeat and the tension in her stomach. It was fascinating, watching how people’s true emotions came through in the push and pull inside their body. There was no artifice here, save in the scripting and clear planning of the protest. They’d chosen Maria Ross to speak because Maria Ross was a commissioned officer, albeit low-ranking. There wasn’t a single black mark on her record, not even the kind of childish pranks that a lot of other soldiers had. ‘Replaceable’ was, in short, a _strong_ word. And…

Hawkeye glanced over at Pride. “A coincidence, I suppose?”

“…Hope so,” he murmured. “Can’t see any way it wouldn’t be.”

It certainly didn’t help on Pride’s end that he’d killed her friend. Luckily – for Mustang, anyway – he didn’t have the same guilt issues that Pride did.

Mustang scoffed, ready to give the signal. Then he and Hawkeye noticed at the same time the _other_ thing that the protestors had planned.

Clara Severin, her photographer and at least a few other journalists were standing just outside the military grounds. Not on army property, so they weren’t breaking any rules. But they _were_ standing right outside the open gates, with a perfect view of the parade grounds. Even as Mustang stared at them in fury, Severin gave them a cheerful wave.

Pride – the bastard – was still chuckling to himself. Hawkeye couldn’t decide if she was mad or impressed. It was infuriating being outsmarted, but it was also… well, it was a nice change. Like playing chess against a preteen instead of a monkey.

Mustang took a deep breath. Then he waved at the snipers, signalling them to stand down. Hawkeye watched Ross’s heart rate start to slow in relief –

“Hawkeye, summon the Command guard rotation. Everybody on this parade ground is under arrest.”

“For _what?_ ” insisted another of the protestors. Hawkeye recognized him – one of the two brainless escorts who’d been with Elric back in East City. It didn’t take long for her to summon the guards, either – before she’d even turned around, she saw them gathering at one of the doors, and summoned them with a wave of her hand.

“Take your pick,” Mustang said with an irritated growl. “Failure to appear at trial. Insubordination. Dereliction of duty.” Then with a surprisingly swift motion, he grabbed the front of Joey Davidson’s jacket and hauled him close, until the poor Corporal’s toes were scraping at the asphalt. “ _Annoying me._ ”

Davidson stammered, too scared to get anything out of his mouth. When Mustang dropped him, he managed to stay on his feet, but two staff members rushed to catch him before he fell over. The guards were hesitating, staring at their soldiers-in-arms and in some cases, friends.

“ _All_ of them, sir?”

“That’s correct.”

“But-“

“Question me again, and I’ll have you stripped of rank and thrown onto the Southern front, soldier. When I give an order, I expect it _followed._ If you want a debate, the scholar’s club is on the other side of the city.” Then a small smile crept onto Mustang’s face, as the handcuffs clicked into place. “Don’t worry. I’ll hear out your complaints. But I won’t have a spectacle made out of it, understood?”

Ross fixed him with a cold stare. She wasn’t buying it. Mustang waited until her hands were cuffed behind her – smart – and then approached her.

“What else do you _want,_ Lieutenant? I’ll swear on my mother’s grave – or, well, eventual grave – that I’ll sit down with you. We’ll have tea and crumpets. It’ll be a discussion. Better had over snacks than a parade ground, don’t you think?”

“An innocent man’s life is in danger.”

“ _I_ don’t know he’s innocent. And I’m not about to abolish a law in a middle of a trial. That’s _terrible_ abuse of power.” Mustang grinned, eyes sparkling as he leant just a little _too_ close to Ross – and dropped his voice so low that Hawkeye could only hear it because she could see his lips so clearly. “Embarrass me again, Maria,” he drawled, “and your death will _not_ be slow. At least Valjean will get a firing squad.”

“You-!”

He straightened up, and raised his voice, loud enough for the protestors and the media to hear. “Lieutenant Ross have reached an agreement to discuss terms at a later date after the conclusion of the trial, on fairer ground. All protestors will be released at that time, and I swear on my office that they will be treated well.” To the guards – “Take them away.”

The moment they were alone again, Mustang swivelled on his heel, and glared at Pride until Pride got the hint to leave. Then he walked in step with Hawkeye into the building, fury keeping his shoulders squared. “This has Diana all over it,” he seethed. “Tell me you have something for me. _Please._ ”

“Not much, I’m afraid.” Then Hawkeye hesitated. Alex had given her something. He’d picked it up at the pit, he’d admitted. He didn’t know who’d killed Lust, and he’d hidden it from her because he had felt so _off_ about everything.

_“It’s probably nothing”,_ he had said, sounding embarrassed. “ _And, I don’t know. You’re the only person so far who’s actually been honest with me. You’re not telling me everything, but at least you’re not pretending you are.”_

_“Why’d you even pick it up?”_

_“I dunno. I figured you just hadn’t seen it yet. And…” He shrugged. “Lust was your friend, right?”_

What she hadn’t told him was that there was no mystery around who had killed Lust. She hadn’t been there to solve anything, or learn anything, except maybe how exactly Solaris and Valjean had pulled it off. She’d been grieving. If he hadn’t given her the photograph, she probably never would have seen it.

She rubbed her fingers over it, hating that she was even considering not telling Mustang about it. “I have a possible lead. If I ask you to trust me with following it up, will you let me do it?”

“You won’t tell me directly?” He gave her a colder look than she’d expected.

She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to tell him. Some of it was that she actually _did_ like Alex. He was their newest sibling – but Mustang didn’t feel any connection to the others. He’d happily use Alex as a chess piece just as much as he used Pride and Envy. _And you?_ came the sudden thought. How strange. Usually she wasn’t so uncertain. Usually she wasn’t so…

… _disloyal,_ the dark voice in her head offered.

They reached Mustang’s office, and he closed the door behind them. “What’s in your pocket, Riza?”

She drew the photo out of her pocket and gave it to him. “I’m not _sure_ if it’s anything, sir. But do you remember what name Archer insists that Valjean used to go by?”

“Grant Haberkorn, yes.” He turned the photo over. _Mordred Haberkorn and family._ “Hm. The dates are right, more or less. I suppose that would make Valjean the boy. I don’t understand why you think this is a lead.”

It was strange, she thought. Even all these many years later, touching on the subject at all made her tongue feel too thick in her mouth and her shoulders prickle. It was different for the homunculi. Sibling was just a word; there was no real relation. “Doesn’t it strike you as strange, sir, that if Valjean has a sister, she’s not in his military record, or present in his life?”

“Hm. Perhaps she died,” he said carelessly.

“I suspect she didn’t, sir. Judging by that photograph, she’d be a mixed Xingese woman, about thirty.”

Mustang suddenly looked a _lot_ more interested, eyes flickering up to her. “You really think-“

She shoved down her unease. “They’ve been close their entire careers, sir. And not all of it can be explained away as them being lovers.”

“Do you think them being lovers is a front, then?”

She shook her head silently. That was what was making her so uncomfortable. “No, sir. I don’t think it is.”

It was one of those things that Pride never understood – would never even _begin_ to understand – even if she had tried better to explain it to him. Mustang didn’t laugh gleefully, or start planning, or react in disgust or horror. Instead, his eyes changed a little, some of the tension went out of his shoulders, and he raised a hand to her cheek with a small smile. “I see. I’m sorry I pushed. I trust you to follow it up. Do note though, dear – I _would_ like her alive.”

“Even if she becomes a liability?”

“At some point, yes. But she’s _awfully_ useful.” Then, before drawing his hand back, he asked, “Will you be alright?”

“I’m always alright, sir.”

“Of course.” He wouldn’t force her to accept comfort. But despite what Pride thought – and even though he was right about some of it – he would offer it, and if she ever needed it, it was there.

* * *

Two days before, Will had taken a deep breath, allowed Selim to tell him what to do, and smoothly asked the nurses if he could be allowed to have his arm back if he told them which switch to flick to reduce the power output by 80%. It didn’t, but he had fine enough control that he could pretend like it did. The switch was actually for one of the oil valves. He’d nearly bitten through his lip when it reconnected, then regained his composure, taken the dye out of his hair…

…and with a voice that he was shocked _didn’t_ break, asked for a pair of scissors. That had been his idea. Not Selim’s. Selim almost tried to talk him out of it – but he’d sensed that if he pushed Will, Will would cave, and it _was_ a good idea. At least in terms of practicality.

_If I have to escape, it will get in the way. And it will make me look more normal._

The nurses hadn’t given them to him, of course. They’d grabbed Dr. Holland, who had been perfectly willing to supervise, although he looked about as doubtful as Will felt. “It’s a big change,” he said quietly. It was _all_ he said, which was good, because Will already had to restrain himself from jamming the scissors into Pride’s eye. Or his own.

Now, he was trapped back in the same room. Still in his uniform, actually; everybody had been so panicked that they hadn’t bothered to get him to change out of it. Which meant that when he looked in the window, the glass shot the stranger back at him.

_You can always dye your hair again,_ Selim offered. _And I’m sure there’s alchemy you can do to make it grow._

Probably. He just didn’t know which equations. That got into the biological stuff he was – well, he was decent at building from the ground up, _clearly,_ but stimulating already-existing processes was a more complicated matter. He just couldn’t shake the feeling of displacement.

He’d try to get some sleep. He –

Hm.

He’d marked the sheets with some of the leftover dye from his hair. Just to be sure – so he could know who’d been in his room. The sheets were still dyed. They hadn’t changed them. Which meant…

Will slid his hand under his pillow. Before this, he’d been restrained. But now… He winced as he pricked himself on a sharp edge, and pulled out what Diana had slid under his pillow.

A scalpel.

_Oh,_ he exhaled. Seeing her today had helped, but there’d been no time to actually talk. Everything had happened so fast, and seeing Clara, and Jareth –

She _was_ on his side. She was trying.

_That trial was awful,_ Selim sighed. _I didn’t know it was – god. No wonder she wanted your help._

Will nodded, still feeling like his body wasn’t his own. He’d walked into the trial, ready to collect information on what it was he’d be asked – and then he’d watched Kimbley’s testimony with a growing, thudding horror in his stomach. So much for Jareth being the ‘safe’ kind of gay man. There really was no safe kind to be, was there? That was why Diana had been so scared for him.

But…

But Kimbley had given Will an out. Possibly by accident. Possibly on purpose. Because here he was, almost unrecognizable, in uniform, with his arm.

And thanks to Diana, he had a weapon.

_Are you sure this is a good idea?_ Selim asked.

_What other chance am I gonna get?_

_What about the trial?_

Will didn’t have to say it out loud, though. They’d been thinking the same thing. Diana had avoided the topic of what happened if they lost. He wasn’t willing to take any chances.

* * *

Jareth had managed to fall asleep after the _ridiculously_ eventful morning, and the guards hadn’t even given him their usual trouble – lucky for him, considering that Kimbley had effectively outed him _before_ trying to blow up the courthouse – but he was woken up by the sound of yelling, fighting and the clash of handcuffs against bars. “What _now?”_ he groaned, sitting up from the jailbed.

“You can’t lock us up!”

“Look, I en’t happy about it either, but you still walked off duty – you knew there’d be a cost-“

“It’s getting pretty full up in here, boss-“

“-are you _really_ gay?”

“What the fuck do you think, Peters? I’m not this pissed just on principle!”

“I thought lesbians were _taller._ ”

Oh, this should be _interesting._ Jareth wandered over to the bars of his cell, still half awake, and hung his arms through them, trying to parse what was going on. There were an _awful lot_ of people in this cellblock, very suddenly; and considering that there were about four cellblocks open total, he had to wonder what the others looked like. It had been empty before now. And every single one of them was a soldier.

Oh. Except one.

“Jareth!” Georgie tried to wave, but his hands were still cuffed behind him. “Ey up!”

Jareth rubbed his eyes. “Uh. ‘Iya. Ain’t you supposed to be back in West City?”

“I go’ distracted. En’ – oh, don’t grab so _tight,_ darling, buy me dinner first- ow!”

“Oi, don’t hit him,” Jareth protested. “C’mon, Cole. Don’t be a me- uh, dick.”

Cole scowled. “He was coming onto me.”

Jareth sighed, bonking his head against the bars and reminding himself to have patience. “Cole, you ass, I don’t care that I’m behind bars right now. You say worse to each other in the locker room all the fucking time. Get over yourself.”

Cole seemed ready to argue, then simmered down into a scowl. “But he’s…”

“Gay? Have you heard how some of you talk to _girls?_ ”

There was actually, to Jareth’s exhausted joy, a considering, if grumpy look on Cole’s face. “I don’t have time for this. We don’t got room. You two keep each other company.” He waited for Jareth to draw back from the bars, then – still somewhat roughly – shoved Georgie inside.

“Hold up, hey, Cole.”

“ _What?_ ”

“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” When Cole gave him another _look,_ Jareth nearly lost his patience. “You really lost all respect for me just cause I’m in jail, you twat?”

“…No,” Cole sighed. “Just stressed. Sorry,” he mumbled the last part in an undertone. That actually made him feel better. Cole was barely a Sergeant, and mostly on the guard rotation rather than anything serious. Usually Jareth liked him just fine. “There was a walkout.”

“A what?”

“Everybody here walked out in protest of the Wilde Act. And in support of you.”

“Except me!” Georgie said cheerily. “I’m in trouble for _other_ reasons.”

Cole glared at Georgie, and then sighed, sticking his hands in his pockets. “We don’t got enough cells. And the Fuhrer’s _raving_ mad. Nearly shot ‘em.”

Jareth felt a little like he’d been punched in the stomach. “Are you serious?”

Cole nodded, looking more miserable by the second. Then he scratched behind his ear, looking at Georgie. “…Sorry,” he mumbled again, even more quietly – and Jareth put it together. It was getting more and more dangerous by the second to even have anybody _suspect_ you were queer. No wonder Cole had reacted so violently to even a flirtation.

“Any news on when they’re getting released?”

“Dunno. Fuhrer says he’s gonna sit down with Lieutenant Ross, but not til after the trial’s done.”

Crap. He’d already suspected – but more and more this was just confirming that this was no fair trial. He’d gotten his hopes up, but… “Thanks,” he said quietly. Cole didn’t say anything – he just left with the other guards. Jareth hoped he’d meant the apology. He hoped there wasn’t going to be a point in Cole’s future with him on one side of a gun and someone who’d made the wrong joke on the other. He liked to think well of people, but it got harder and harder all the time.

He glanced around, recognizing more and more faces. Nurses, kitchen staff, warrant officers – and across from him –

“Davidson?”

Joey Davidson gave him a small smile and wave from where he sat on the floor. An older nurse was in the same cell as him – they’d clearly had to double up a few times. “H-hi.”

He had to ask. “Here in support or spite?” Jareth asked wryly.

Davidson didn’t answer directly – he just turned bright red and stared at his feet. “A very scared and confused mix of the two? Does that work?”

“…Sure. I mean, I’m curious, but time and place.” To be fair, he had a pretty good idea. ‘Confused’ was a decent response to Will in a dress, and Davidson’s reaction was a _damn_ sight better than Cole’s.

And now he was just thinking about somebody like Cole around Will, and he was going to not think about that before he ripped the bars out of the wall in anger. Right. Moving on.

“And who’s your roomie?”

“Patricia Kelly, Nurse. Or ex-nurse, I suppose,” she grumbled. “Support staff. And also here in support rather than spite. I’m afraid I don’t personally find women attractive, although it’d make my life easier.”

Jareth laughed, sinking to the floor next to Georgie. “You’d be surprised. Men are easier sometimes. Then again, I’m not a woman.”

“Try bein’ _me,_ eh!” Georgie stated dramatically, rolling his eyes. “At least yer a big tough guy! Some men are so _insecure_ about being gay.”

“Are they?” Davidson asked, with a little _too_ much interest.

Georgie put on a fake macho voice. “Oi, y’ brassic fairy, I only date _real_ men! Git yer panties off and wear braces ‘n bowties, what are ya, _queer_ or somethin’? If’n I wanted meself a judy I’d be straight!” He dropped the voice with a giant grin as Pat struggled – and failed – to contain her laughter. “An’ then they complain that they can’t get laid.”

Davidson looked both entertained and like he was dying inside. “I think I understood half of that. Th-there are guys like that? _Really?_ I – I thought it’d be the other way around?”

“Wot, like all gay men was into skirts and ruffles and it was weird if’n ye wasn’t?”

Davidson nodded, ears bright red, and Jareth gave Georgie a poke. “Be _nice_ to him. He’s a baby.”

“I am _not!_ ” Davidson insisted. “And I’m not gay, either.” There was a long pause in which both Jareth and Georgie tried not to look skeptical. “…I _think,_ ” he added. “Stop staring at me.”

“I ent said a thing,” Georgie protested.

Jareth just chuckled and turned around so his back was against the bars, sticking his legs straight out in front of him. “What _are_ you in here for? As fun as bullying Davidson is-“

“ _Hey._ ”

Georgie snickered, but the cheeky grin dropped a little. “Oh, I- well, I gave that journie lady an interview. Nonnied, s’posedly, but turns out the Fuhrer was keeping eyes anyway. So here I am, on paper because I’m a whore, but really just coz I got on his lordship’s nerves.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, la’.”

“Ain’t your fault! I’m the one who got all bold. Sides, I got awful comfy in these cells. Think I put graffiti in one of these cells somewhere- oh, yeah. Ey, towhead!”

Davidson blinked. “What?”

“You, yeah. Er, wossit. Davidson?”

“Yeah – hey, who are _you_ calling towhead? You’re blonder than me!”

“So I’m a hypocrite. Is there any scribblin’ in the corner over there?”

Jareth sat back, enjoying the banter between the two, but unable to stop himself from sinking back into thought. It was only going to get worse, and he was almost mad that he’d ever thought it _wouldn’t._ He’d gone through his entire military career just sort of – accepting that it was “technically” illegal and happily engaging in the queer culture that persisted nevertheless.

It was a little while later, when Georgie had had his fun teasing Davidson, that he crept over to the bed where Jareth had been sitting for a while. “Ah, poor la’. He ent said it out loud but he’s got it bad for some boyo somewhere.”

Jareth chuckled, although it was tinged with sadness. “Yeah. I know who it is, too.”

“Oh _really._ ”

“Yeah, the kid. Will.”

“I keep hearing about him, I ent never seen him. What’s he like?”

Jareth sat up, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Not because he was uncomfortable – but because Georgie knew him too fucking well, and he wasn’t as good at hiding his feelings as he wished he was.

“Oh, Jareth,” Georgie sighed. “How old is he?”

“Sixteen. I know. Shut up.”

“You ent-“

“No.” Then he sighed. “I kissed him. Once. It wasn’t – I didn’t _push_ ‘im or nothing. And I shouldna done it. Know that much.” The accent was slipping back. It always did, around Georgie – not all the way, but just enough to remind him of home. “Think I’m a bad person?”

“Nah.” Georgie pulled his lanky legs up onto the bed. “I know you gorra a past on ya but shit, I started fuckin’ when I was thirteen. Can’t get too mad about you snoggin’ on a teenager and feeling bad about it. And far as I know, none of that past o’ yours involves the kind of shit going through your head.”

Jareth shook his head. If anything, it was the opposite. That was probably why he was being so hard on himself – but at the same time, Will was too fucking young. It was different with Davidson. Davidson was practically a kid himself. Even Georgie was in his mid-twenties at the latest. But Jareth wasn’t just too old, he was old enough to know better.

“…You got it bad for him, huh?”

“No, I just –“ Jareth sighed. “You know what I’m like.”

“Unfortunately,” Georgie drawled, and Jareth swatted at him. “I’m _kiddin’._ Well, kinda. You can’t keep yer heart to yourself and you keep givin’ it to the worst people possible.”

Jareth didn’t even have it in him to protest. It was true, and he knew it. “Guess my ex trying to blow up the courthouse gave that away. I think here I’m mostly just hung up on –“ He shrugged. “I think he’s cute, I get mad at myself for thinking that, and then I get worried about him and overprotective, and _then_ I ask myself if I’m feelin’ that way for the right reasons.”

“All round and round and never endin’.”

“Yup.”

“You talked to Di about it?”

“Ain’t had the _time._ Also, I think she’d murder me for havin’ kissed him at all.”

Georgie snorted. “I’d love to reassure ya but nah, she’s gonna roast you for that. I get it. She’s scary.”

“Not the scariest thing I have on my mind right now,” Jareth replied quietly. He wasn’t sure why it took having someone else there to admit to that. He lay back, the weight of everything suddenly coming down on him. Tomorrow, he was going up on the stand. The last testimony would be his. And he didn’t know what the hell he was going to say.

Georgie gave him a soft look, then – still in his street clothes versus Jareth’s unzipped jumpsuit – he lay down next to Jareth, head curling onto his shoulder and slight body fitting into the space at his side. “…You got such a brave face on,” he whispered, fingers brushing over the stubble on Jareth’s cheek. “Tryin’ so hard not to worry anybody. Tryin’ to keep everybody believing that it’ll be fine. It ent’ your job this time. Promise.”

Jareth closed his eyes, turning his head and burying his face in Georgie’s hair, then turning and wrapping his arms around him. He wasn’t going to talk about it, because if he did, then he really _would_ fall apart, and he didn’t have the time. But if he cried a little about being scared and out of his depth, about the fact that you always kind of carried a bit of that _what if_ with you anyway (what if I really am as terrible as they say, what if I am a degenerate, what if I am a corrupting influence, what if I’m a danger to everyone around me by existing), about the base instinct of not wanting to die, if he was frightened and young and vulnerable a little in the dark, then that was okay.

* * *

Selim tightened his hands on the automail he’d been working on, unable to focus. He’d told his father nothing else was happening – passing along the horror of the morning had been enough to give him a headache, and the headache hadn’t entirely gone away. Now Will was waiting for the right time to attempt his breakout, hoping nobody would remember that they’d left him with his arm attached, and he was trying to calm down.

Watching Kimbley through Will’s eyes had been bad enough before. He’d been out of it for a lot of Will’s journey from Forcett to Central, and he’d missed the previous exhibition of Kimbley’s powers – just felt the aftershocks of it in Will’s mind. But this time –

He still felt shaky.

What had Kimbley done to his mother? Had she died in the explosion, or had she been-

_Stop thinking about it,_ he urged himself, blinking away frightened tears. He felt the brush of concern against his consciousness, and shook his head, trying to reassure Will that he was _fine, really-_

_It’s fine if you’re not. That rattled everyone._

“I hate him,” Selim whispered. “I hate him so much. How could Jareth ever have-“

Will sighed. _I don’t know. People make mistakes, I guess. Certainly didn’t look like it was a great relationship or anything._ Bringing up Jareth just brought up a tangled of confused, messy emotions for Will that nearly rivalled the ones Selim was feeling. He didn’t mind. They were both in hell, at least. Will had heard about Ishval from Diana, but wrapping his head around Jareth as a sniper was a whole different challenge. Selim wasn’t finding it any easier. Jareth was… sure, there was the sense of him being _dangerous._ But the kind of cold, calculated, methodical murder that had been lurking clear as mud between the lines of ‘eighty confirmed kills’ was… well, for all that Kimbley had been mocking him, it was sobering. Let alone that he and Kimbley had ever been close enough to be lovers.

_Does it change how you feel about him?_ Selim asked, already knowing the answer.

_…No,_ Will admitted. _Does that make me a bad person?_

_Course not. Maybe you should talk to him about it._

Will smothered his laugh, staying completely silent on the outside. _Yeah. If we survive this._

Selim closed his eyes, looking through Will’s eyes. No; it was stronger all the time. He _was_ Will. He didn’t have any control, but he could feel-and-hear the thoughts behind every action, so it almost felt like he did. It was eerie. Like falling asleep, almost.

Will touched his hands together, then pressed them to the door, forming a small pinprick hole in the wood. He peered through it. The hallway was… practically empty. That was weird. There were usually _some_ orderlies around, doing rounds, or a nurse or two in the station. He could hear footsteps somewhere, but – there they were. One nurse, sighing and letting himself into the station. The other was stretching inside the station; she’d been hidden behind part of the desk. Where were the rest?

_Don’t think too hard about where they are. Use it._

Right. Good idea. He tucked the scalpel into the breast pocket of his uniform, and waited for the nurses at the station to move. They talked to each other, giving each other exhausted looks – and then _both_ set off in different directions. Excellent. And since he was directly in front of the station, they’d both passed him by, leaving him for the last and assuming the other would take care of him.

He transmuted the lock open. All he had to do was get past the station and towards the door –

The door creaked open. He closed it behind him. And then he heard it – the crying from the next room over. The nurse had passed that room by, too – possibly because he didn’t want to deal with it.

Will was ready to ignore it. He felt bad, sure. But he didn’t have time –

_Who are you?_

_Selim._

_Selim._

He was Selim, watching, and he couldn’t ignore the crying completely –

_Will, please. Just look._

_I’m going to get caught if I do._

Selim nodded, trying not to pay any attention – but the crying kept going. Will glanced this way and that, then crept over to the other room. He looked down at the handle and lock – and a knot formed in his stomach. Both their stomachs. They’d noticed the same thing.

There was a flap in the bottom of the door. He’d noticed that on his (on Will’s) door – small, near the ground, the same size as the tray that the nurses brought food in on. But the handle itself, the one to _open_ the door, was covered in a thick coating of dust.

Selim felt himself breathe, suddenly – his own lungs, his own throat raw with sudden fear, shrinking down into his own body, but unable to pull away. No way out. No escape.

Will transmuted the lock open, and carefully, slowly opened the door. The smell hit them first; feces, urine, vomit. Will held a hand to his nose, and Selim was glad he had a layer between him and the stink.

The crying had stopped. As Will stepped noiselessly into the root, feet arched up onto his toes, the woman on the bed rolled to stare at him, eyes wide. She didn’t say anything. Selim wasn’t sure if she could. The sheets she lay on were dirty and torn, and while she wasn’t tied down to the bed in the same way that Will had been, there was a cuff around her ankle, and a long chain leading to the wall.

_They just left her in here,_ he whispered to Will in horror. _They haven’t come in. At all. They give her food and she can barely reach it._

Will’s response wasn’t made of words – just a whiteout of suppressed terror and disgust. Selim could be sad all he wanted. Will was wondering how many – or few – steps there were between him and her.

He came a little closer. “Hey,” he whispered. “Hey, I’m – uh – I can help. Who are you?”

The woman shook her head. It had probably been a long time since she’d talked to anybody. Will came a little closer, but then stopped, unsure what to do.

_You could unlock her cuff._

 _And then what? She won’t get far like this. And…_ Will’s thoughts fragmented back into images and impressions. The woman running into the streets, desperately happy to be free, but still stuck with no help, no shelter. Freezing in the night, or falling ill, or arrested again the next day. Or, worse, reacting violently to something and getting gunned down.

Selim hadn’t even thought about that. His first instinct had been that she wasn’t _crazy,_ she was just losing it after being alone for so long. But Will’s mind had gone elsewhere – that she might be crazy, and that she needed more help than just being shoved back out into the street. Certainly if she hadn’t been mad before –

_I can’t leave her here,_ came Will’s almost choked response. _I don’t know what to do._ And then, on the heels of that, the doors in the whole ward, stretching out and out. How many of them were there? Ten? Twenty? Fifty? Were they all like this?

Selim didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have any more answers. His fingers felt numb, still perched on the automail, and he only thought to move them when Will finally forced himself to run back out into the hallway, struggling to catch his breath in the clearer air, chest tightening more and more.

Then he heard the footsteps.

_Will, Will, you have to run NOW-_

It was too late. A knee slammed into Will’s stomach, and Selim’s back hit the floor of his workshop, stray screws and bolts digging into his back.

“ _Will!_ ” he yelled, but he couldn’t hear it leave his mouth – all he could hear was the blood thumping in his (Will’s?) ears, face down on the ground with weight on his back, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t _breathe,_ and Selim struggled to pull in enough air for the both of them, the air in here was so _thin,_ so _dry-_

“Please,” Will gasped, spots dancing in front of his eyes.

“I do need you alive,” the voice murmured. The pressure on Will’s back loosened up, and Selim’s eyes watered as Will rolled over, taking deep, panting breaths.

Fuhrer Mustang towered over him, with no smile, no kindness, none of the fake joviality he put on so frequently. Selim kept breathing. He had to.

“M-Mustang,” Will stammered.

“You are such a _nuisance,_ ” Mustang sighed. “You know, Diana I can understand. She has a career, a _reputation._ You? You just can’t put down the shovel.” He slammed his boot into Will’s sternum, pulling another gasp of pain from both Will and Selim, miles away. “I put up with you because you’re useful. But as far as I’m concerned, there’s no shortage of stupid, half-cocked alchemists.” He leant down, and pulled the scalpel from Will’s breast pocket. “Besides…call it a little experiment of my own.” He brought the scalpel close to Will’s eye. Too close. The point glinted in the thin strip lighting of the hospital hallway, and Selim felt his heart beating in tandem with Will’s, so fast that he thought it might burst. “There’s this new procedure, you see. The frontline of psychology. So how’s this for science? Let’s find out if bratty little alchemists can still transmute with pieces dug out of their brain.”

Will tried to blink away the tears, but there were too many of them. The inside of his mind was just white, now. Nothing else. “Please. Please, please please please –“

“Oh? Not so feisty now. I told Diana she just wasn’t tough enough on you.” Mustang straightened up. “You’re so _bold_ when you’re the one with all the power.”

“Please, I’ll do anything, _anything,_ I- please, please-“

“What, you think you can offer to suck my cock and I’ll let you go? Tempting. But no.” Mustang grabbed Will by the hair, short as it was, and dragged him across the floor to a different room than before. Selim caught the words on the door – SURGERY PREP. There was no bed in here. Just a table, with stronger straps, and the overwhelming smell of antiseptic.

Selim wanted to pull away. To stop looking. But Will couldn’t think at all – and they had no time.


	49. 21 Guns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: trapped-feelings, threats to children, abuse/neglect/abandonment trauma feels, incest trauma, incest… shaming???, slut shaming, I REALLY don’t know how to tag this other than it being misogynistic as hell and awful really, homophobia, passive (….not that passive) suicidality, alcoholism discussed, grief, severe mental breakdown, homicidal intrusive thoughts, implied/offscreen sexual abuse (twice, btw), parental manipulative bullshit, I…. yeah…. I’M SORRY…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll have some more commentary on these choices later, but I’ve said a few times in A/Ns that sexual abuse is going to be coming up in LSNA. Something I want to clarify too is that it’s not with any one character. One of the most misunderstood things about sexual abuse is the idea that it’s rare. I’ve deliberately held back on graphic depictions for a while to establish, I guess, reader trust? And a comfort with my characters – and I don’t intend on having much actually On Screen, although if that changes I will be VERY upfront about it and try to make it skippable. This is also a big reason why the rating went up for part 2, and will stay at M for parts 3 and 4.
> 
> Song is by Green Day, and I HIGHLY recommend the Broadway version, which is easily searchable on Youtube – here’s a direct link! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=blKZTwmNrcM

~49~

_Your faith walks on broken glass  
And the hangover doesn't pass  
Nothing's ever built to last  
You're in ruins_

_- **21 Guns**_

Selim lay on the cold ground, trying to ground himself in _his_ reality, trying to remember how to breathe on his own. He was terrified – for Will, for himself, but also because the connection between him and Will had very suddenly and swiftly grown from something sweet and mysterious into something just as dangerous and deadly as the Fuhrer. He wasn’t sure. But it almost felt like – if he’d slipped, if he’d been in Will’s head any longer – maybe he wouldn’t have made it back.

It hadn’t been like that before. Before, the two realities had co-existed quite comfortably. Before, he’d never forgotten who he was.

_Come on, Selim. Up and at ‘em,_ he told himself. He had to help Will escape. Sitting around and waiting was no longer an option. Diana was powerless. Will hadn’t really consciously realized it – he was too angry at her for not telling him about Hughes’s death, too hurt by her perceived abandonment. But she hadn’t just avoided the topic of what happened if they lost. She’d avoided a _lot._ And while Jareth had been so excited to see Will that it rolled off of him like mist, Diana had hung back. Scared. Guilty, maybe.

The Fuhrer was doing something to her.

_You don’t know it’s the Fuhrer,_ protested some part of his brain, but the rest of him was too angry to fixate on anybody else. He could still feel his hands in his (Will’s) hair. The way he’d jerked Will’s automail out of the port, so carelessly and painfully, thrown it into the corner. The way he’d almost _enjoyed_ it.

He managed to get himself to his feet. He could do this. He could figure this out. He had to assume – he was going to assume – that the trial was rigged. Two weeks ago he would have believed in fairness. He couldn’t afford to. He _couldn’t._

“Dad. Pinako. Falman.” They were sitting at the table. They thought things were – well, _bad,_ but… “I need-“ What did he need?

Falman pulled up a chair, getting down to his knees next to him. “What happened?”

“Tell me about Fuhrer Mustang.”

His dad started, staring at him. “…Well, he’s-“

“The truth. Not the – the stuff people always say. Tell me the truth.”

Falman had gone a little white. “I haven’t interacted with him. What _happened?_ ”

“He hurt Will. Bad.” It still kind of hurt to talk, an ache in his chest that could have been left over from Will or could have been the rage settling, deep and cold. “There’s some sort of – surgery. Will’s getting it tomorrow. And I refuse – I _won’t –_ I _won’t_ leave him there, I won’t, so tell me, _tell me_ what he’s really like, so I know who I’m killing.”

He’d thought Falman’s reaction was a lot. King had gone _entirely_ white at that, and he wondered which part his dad was more worried about; him casually threatening to kill somebody, or him casually threatening to kill the Fuhrer. But instead, King pressed a hand to his mouth, tried to take a breath, then brought the hand down into a fist on the table, shaking the cups.

“It is… _always children,_ ” he managed to get out from between laboured breaths.

Pinako put her hand on his arm. “King?”

“After – After Minna died. I thought it was an accident. I really did. And then he came to visit.”

Selim had never thought about that. How his father had _known_ it wasn’t an accident.

“He never _said_ anything. He came in and had tea with me. Gave his condolences. And then he told me that while he was sure I had no idea where Marcoh was by now, he _chose to believe_ that as a faithful soldier, I’d certainly let him know if it came up. All the while, he had his bodyguard by your bedroom door, with her gun drawn.”

Selim’s breath caught in his throat. “So that’s why-“ They hadn’t talked about it, since he’d come back from running away. It wasn’t just his mother. _He’d_ been threatened. “Why would you let Will and Alex sign up?”

“I didn’t. I tried to chase away those soldiers for a reason. But once Will had his heart set-“ King shook his head. “You said tomorrow?”

“I-I think so.”

“Tomorrow’s supposed to be the verdict,” said Falman with a sigh.

Pinako frowned. “This has been going awfully _fast_ for a trial.”

“Court martials go faster than civilian trials. Usually because there _isn’t_ a crowd watching.”

That seemed wrong. Selim was finding a lot of things about his country he didn’t like, lately. “So we have to get him out and figure out how to rescue Valjean, too,” he said determinedly.

“He might be found innocent,” King said, but he didn’t sound particularly convinced. Pinako just shook her head.

“If the jury was made up of Colonels and Lieutenants, maybe. But the Generals are all buddies with the Fuhrer, you know that. And if the Fuhrer’s threatening people with _lobotomies..”_

“It has a name?” Selim asked, feeling even more sick. He’d thought – hoped – that Mustang had made it up.

Pinako nodded, then got to her feet. “…Selim, hon. I know what you’re going to say, and I’m not trying to talk you out of this. But if I’m understanding you right… well…” She sighed, and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re awfully young to be goin’ on a list of enemies of the nation, Selim. And breaking them both out, that might get you killed.”

“It might get you _all_ killed,” Falman said, voice a little shaky. “I – I mean, I don’t like this anymore than the rest of you. But you can’t just _do_ that.”

“I’ll do it or die trying-“

“Don’t you _dare,_ ” King snapped.

“I’ll die anyway, Dad. This connection – I didn’t ask for it, Will didn’t, and what do you think will happen to _me_ when the scalpel goes into his head?” He was angry – he was _so angry,_ and it was such cold anger that he was almost shivering. It wasn’t just him. Will was –

-Will was _naked._ Mustang had done it. Selim had looked away, he’d been able to do that, but the pain was like an exposed wire in the back of his head.

“I’ll do it with or without your help. Help would be nice. That’s all.”

Pinako gave a soft, sad laugh. “Teenagers. Yes, Selim, I’ll help.” She hadn’t said _we,_ Selim noticed.

King’s jaw was still working. “…You need a plan. A proper one. I’ll help you – but I’m not letting you go into this half-cocked.”

Selim was ready to argue, but that was the temper flaring. He could recognize that. So he nodded.

* * *

Diana stared up at the courthouse, swallowing down her nervousness. She still didn’t know what she was going to say, on the stand. Mustang had made it so clear to her that nothing she said was going to make any difference, but if the Generals would listen to her…

_I could always go directly to the jury,_ she thought. But… Will was still in the asylum. He seemed to be putting on a brave face, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in a precarious position, and Mustang was perfectly capable of making it worse with a single tip of his hand. And if she was caught trying to interfere directly, that was the end for her, too.

She took a step onto the courthouse steps – and a hand appeared on her arm, seemingly escorting her upwards, then steering her off the side. Hawkeye. The woman wasn’t even looking directly at her.

“What’s this about?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

“It would appear your testimony is no longer required.”

“But –“ Bile rose up in her throat. “You can’t _do_ that. I’m his commanding officer. His best friend.”

Hawkeye stayed silent until she pulled Diana through a side door, and into a dimly lit room, a single light swinging above them. It looked like an unused interrogation room, and Diana stiffened, checking that her gloves were on, the arrays stitched on the outsides as a visibly displayed weapon. She didn’t really _want_ to hurt Hawkeye if she didn’t have to, but at the same time, Mustang wasn’t human, and there was every chance Hawkeye wasn’t either. Was there any way for her to tell?

“You’re more than that, it would appear.”

Diana sighed, and sat down on one of the metal chairs, rust squeaking in complaint. “Is that what you dragged me in here to confront me about it? Yes, we’re lovers. Technically frowned upon, but unless there’s some confusion about my gender –“

Hawkeye tossed a photograph onto the table.

Diana picked it up, fingers starting to tremble as she did, white-gloved thumb brushing over the faded and crinkled image. “Wh…” She started to ask, but her voice failed her, heartbeat rising into her ears. There she was. Kwan Leung. Her mother. There were no other pictures of her; Leung had fallen ill with whatever she’d suffered from shortly after escaping to West City, and cameras had still been rare.

She’d forgotten how much Jareth looked like Leung. It was easy for her memory to rewrite it, make it seem like the opposite, simplify the matter into the strictures of gender; Diana looked like Leung and Jareth looked like Mordred. But in reality, Diana had Leung’s cheekbones, her coloration, enough to make her look Xingese to anybody who knew what to look for; and Mordred’s height and shoulders, his dense and wavy-to-curly hair that had been brown in him and black in her, his hazelnut-brown eyes. Of course it all looked brown in the photograph. Washed-out sepia. And at two or three years old, however young she’d been at the time, it was hard to make out her own features, let alone Jareth’s. But looking at her mother made her heart ache not just because she missed her, but because looking at her reminded her of how violet her eyes had been, how they’d softened and sharpened depending on her moods, and brought home that she was going to lose Jareth, too.

She was going to lose him, because Hawkeye wasn’t supposed to have this photograph.

“It seems that Lust found this while at Valjean’s apartment. It took us time to find it, but we found it at the place where you killed him. It appears to have escaped the inferno. Lucky for you it did; from your expression, it appears to hold quite a bit of importance.”

Diana tore her eyes up from the photograph to glare at Hawkeye, who was standing between her and the door.

Hawkeye just inclined her head, still entirely expressionless. “That _is_ you in the picture, then.”

She couldn’t lie now. Not after her reaction. “…Yes.”

“Interesting. Archer names the two of you as Grant Haberkorn and Laura Kwan. Which wouldn’t raise much in terms of eyebrows. I certainly wasn’t giving much credence to his paranoid ramblings without any proof to back it up. But then the appearance of a Haberkorn family photo, with the correct ages for Valjean and a sister we’ve never heard of before…”

“That’s an awful lot of coincidences you’re naming off. My brother died a long time ago. Valjean has no connection to the Haberkorns.”

Hawkeye smiled thinly. “Interesting. If that was the case, you would think that Valjean would exist before eleven years ago.”

“That’s his business, not mine.”

“And you, Laura Kwan?”

“My past history is unsavory, but it’s not connected to this case, and it’s not a matter of national security.”

“You _are_ good,” Hawkeye conceded. “But it’s not enough. You’re made of secrets, all the way down. You must have known at some point it would catch up with you. Record-keeping and transfers are significantly improved now than they were a decade ago, Solaris. The moment Archer started rambling about Grant Haberkorn, we requested any files on the name we had. The military keeps track of alchemists with dangerous alchemy, especially ones that have been requested as State Alchemists, and _especially_ ones who have denied the position. Izumi Curtis is on that list, as is Mordred Haberkorn. Mordred Haberkorn lived in Redwick Bush until he died, and he has a listed marriage with the township. Leung Kwan.”

“That still proves nothing about Jareth Valjean-“

“Valjean gave an interview to the paper talking about where he grew up. He didn’t give much detail, to be fair. But he did say that he grew up in a small town, in the middle of nowhere, in the West. And, Solaris…” Hawkeye crossed her arms. “It was _him_ that Lust was targeting. Not you. Why would Valjean have a picture of _your_ family in his home?”

Diana struggled for another out. An excuse. Something, _anything._ She always had another line. Another lie. Another misdirection. “Fine, so we’re related. The lovers thing is a front-“

“Is it?” Hawkeye asked smoothly. She loaded her gun.

“Of course.”

“You’re lying. I can tell from your heartbeat.”

“My heartbeat is rapid because you’re loading your gun, and because my best friend is on trial.”

“Mm. My question for you, Solaris, is are you willing to risk letting people draw their own conclusions?” Hawkeye raised her eyes back to her from her gun. “Perhaps you’re right – or one of your many excuses is the truth, somehow. But do you want it in the open? Do you want people asking whether or not you and your brother are incestuous lovers, while they’re judging his worth and whether or not he lives or dies?”

Diana tightened her fingers around the chair. “You’re going to kill him anyway. What does it matter?”

“It matters because after this, Mustang has every intention of repealing the Wilde Act. Valjean will be a martyr for the cause. An effective one, too, with how likeable he’s made himself. An avoidable tragedy.” Hawkeye was still impossible to read. “But _you –_ you will still be alive. You choose. Do you want to be his grieving lover, best friend, commanding officer, with the same rising career you had…” And then suddenly, a flash of white-hot anger, and the gun was pointed at her, “or are you a whore fucking her own brother?”

Her fingers were hurting from how she was squeezing the chair. She felt like a child, in trouble for something pointless, trying to understand, trying to _comprehend._ “We aren’t hurting anybody,” she said so quietly that it was almost a whisper.

“Everybody says that.” There was a tightness to Hawkeye’s mouth. It wasn’t the first time, Diana realized, that she’d caught the glimpse of a horrible, seething anger under the mask.

_Whore._

It had to be that word. Diana wondered how much they’d dug into her past, as well as Jareth’s. It was hard to say. It was what anybody would call her for this, whether they knew she’d actually been one or not.

 _Not anybody,_ she tried to tell herself. Will had been angry but he hadn’t lashed out like that. And Maes had just rolled his eyes and been quietly disapproving while agreeing that it wasn’t his business. Ayi had never cared. But it still felt like she deserved it.

 _Take me instead of him,_ she wanted to say. She wanted to be brave enough for that. But she wasn’t. The words kept sticking in her mouth. Too many years of _it’s them or me_ keeping her mouth closed.

The door slammed closed. It wasn’t locked. Hawkeye just knew that Diana wasn’t going to follow.

 _I hate you,_ Diana seethed. She still couldn’t open her mouth. _I hate you, I hate you, I hate you_ and she didn’t know who she was talking to, she could have meant Hawkeye, she could have meant Jareth, she could have meant herself, she _probably_ mostly meant herself –

The man in the picture. Mordred Haberkorn.

Him.

If Leung had taken both of them – god, maybe they still would have ended up lovers, she didn’t know. Maybe they’d always been cursed to be that kind of family. But she’d know how to be a sister. And if Leung had left them both behind, at least Jareth would have had protection. They didn’t even know for _sure_ who was older and who was younger; the picture was vague enough, and neither of their parents had been particularly clear with things like birthdays. But she’d always been the one protecting Jareth. Always.

She glared at the photograph, tried to blame it on Mordred and Leung and the curse they’d put on their children – unwittingly, unknowingly, uncaringly, but all the same. Then she put her head down on the table next to it, and cried.

* * *

The trial was rigged. Everybody knew it, by now. It was a fucking joke, and he’d been trying to get away from it, but Gracia’s testimony had slowly whittled whatever hope he’d had left, especially when she’d asked angrily why they weren’t actually asking about her husband’s _murder,_ Archer had asked a few perfunctory questions, and Amue had _tried,_ but without the prosecution staying on topic, hadn’t been able to do much. The jury was barely paying attention, which meant they’d made up their minds…

…and something was wrong with Godfrey. Godfrey had been an active participant in the previous days. Today, he was barely interfering at all, except to move things along. And then –

“Solaris has been struck from the witness list.”

No explanation. No reason given.

So when Jareth got to his feet to climb to the stand, he leaned over to Amue and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Giving up.”

“Wh- _Jareth!_ ” Amue tried to grab his arm, but it was too late. He sat down next to Godfrey, looking up at him and trying to understand what had changed. Godfrey didn’t look at him.

“State your name and rank for the record, please.”

_Grant Haberkorn. Kwan Jan Mat. Shrike._ “Second Lieutenant Jareth Valjean.”

He didn’t want to die. But when he glanced up at Mustang, sitting up front as usual, he wondered if there’d ever been a chance otherwise. He’d hoped, maybe. He’d woken up and thought about it. Talking to Georgie last night had helped. But without Diana’s testimony…

… _and, isn’t part of you wondering, where has she been all this time?_

Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t.

_You chased her down. You followed her. You’re the loyal dog._ Over and over again, like a drone in the back of his brain. He was the one who loved too much. And all those people, arrested for protesting on his behalf, and where had _she_ been? Nowhere.

_You’re being unfair._

“Where were you on the night of June the fifth?”

_I give up,_ Jareth thought wearily. _I give up. I’m not the one who’s good at lying. I’m not the one with the great ambitions of saving the world. I’m the guy who fucks and smokes and drinks. I give up. I give up. I give up._

_So if I die, I’m gonna make you miserable before I do._

There had been, despite people’s confusion, a _lot_ of reasons why he and Kimbley had been together for so long.

“I was at Phillip Armstrong’s retirement gala. I left early.”

“How come?” Archer asked.

“I don’t like crowds. They make me uncomfortable after too long, and besides, I was in a bad mood.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Oh, I don’t remember. So I went home.”

“Alone?”

“Nope.” Jareth sat back. “I met a guy on the way. He was cute, and he needed a place to sleep, so I took him back to my apartment and I fucked his brains out.”

Amue didn’t look surprised. She just looked… sad. She’d figured it out, he guessed. So she didn’t protest, just stayed sitting down.

Archer set his jaw, clearly refusing to be taken aback after the incident with Kimbley – although he did give a short, surprised glance to Godfrey, who _didn’t_ correct Jareth on his language. “I – I see. And how long did he stay at your home?”

Jareth laughed, and he could hear the dry crackle of it. “It was _supposed_ to only be overnight. But then I found out that my best friend in the world had died. So I started drinking, and I didn’t stop. He stayed with me. Turns out it wasn’t for _good_ reasons. And he kept encouraging the drinking, and telling me, you know, one more won’t kill ya. Because every time I sobered up, you know what happened, Archer?”

“What?” Archer actually did look surprised.

“I remembered that Maes was _fucking dead._ ” He didn’t remember leaning forward. And he didn’t realize he’d almost shouted that last part. “I don’t even remember the guy’s name.” This was the only lie he could manage, because outing the homunculi was going to result in more deaths than just him. “I’m lucky I survived. I’m lucky that I can actually touch alcohol again and I’ll only do it with somebody else. I don’t get actually _drunk_ anymore. Just one or two drinks. But after getting dragged up into a trial and accused of murdering my best friend out of jealousy, who knows, the idea of drinking myself to death is seeming like a better and better idea all the time.”

“Valjean-“

“Shut up, Archer. Shut your _fucking mouth._ ”

Godfrey seemed about to intervene, then sat back, just watching.

“You want me to tell you I’m a queer?” Jareth hissed. “Sure. Fine. Whatever. I’m a queer. I’ve fucked more men and more women than most people have probably even danced with in their lives. I’m a manwhore. I probably seduce good upstanding men into lives of depravity and honestly, I enjoy doing it. I’ve sucked dick in public. I hang out at gay bars with – sodomites or whatever the fuck you call us. So I plead guilty. Just get it over with, and let everyone go home. Fuck you.”

“I- I’m sorry?” Godfrey had actually spoken, looking at him with surprise.

“I. Plead. Guilty.”

Archer was looking accomplished and very proud of himself, albeit confused. Jareth could deal with that. But what he could barely deal with – and what he looked away from – was Gracia’s face in the crowd, heartbroken and confused.

_I’m sorry, Gracia,_ he thought, and it hurt to think at this point. His head was pounding. He’d kept up such a good face, all this time. _Somebody will find the real killer. I know it should have been me._

 _Maybe Diana will do it –_ and the anger surged back up in him again.

She wasn’t here.

Not just as a witness. She wasn’t in the courthouse.

She wasn’t here at all.

* * *

_Will._

He was so cold. Every time he managed to crawl out of the pit, somebody knocked him back, didn’t they? Assholes. Every one of them. Alex, Kimbley, Solaris, Mustang. All of them. They’d left him here.

_Will._

He’d kill them. He’d kill them. The surgery wouldn’t work. He’d just rise up stronger. Kill them. Put the scalpel in their heads, see how they liked it. Alex complaining and bitching about how the body Will was getting him was the wrong one. Will was always in the wrong one. Get over it. Get over it. Bitch. Bodies weren’t comfortable. They hurt. Always. Always. Souls and wires and consciousness disconnected.

Mustang had stripped him naked. Looked at him and scoffed. No gown this time. Just everything he usually ignored. Didn’t look in the mirror while changing. Closed his eyes when showering. Not always. But enough. And of course he’d remembered the dream –

_Will._

He shivered.

Hadn’t wanted to react. Fear, and adrenaline. Didn’t want to touch now. Not where _his_ hand had been. Didn’t count. He thought. Violence, not sex.

_Will, it’s me._

Don’t look. Don’t talk to me. Don’t.

_I’ll kill them._ His thought. Not his thought. He was –

_Breathe,_ Selim murmured.

He was breathing, wasn’t he?

He wasn’t.

Exhale. He exhaled.

_Don’t look at me,_ he whispered.

_I won’t. It’s okay. I think I can get you out of here._

Selim. Selim hadn’t left. Selim wasn’t leaving. _He will. He will eventually._

_I won’t. Even if I could. I won’t. Not ever. You trust me, right?_

Will didn’t want to. Trust was dangerous. Trust broke. Trust hurt. But it was trust or the scalpel (bright, glinting) and he wasn’t far enough gone to submit to that. Or far enough gone to refuse. He didn’t know the difference anymore.

The door opened. He tensed – but it was Pride, almost immediately shifting to his preferred form. Will wanted to fear him more. But he was the one who kept returning. Hadn’t left him. Hadn’t run away. It was twisted. Horrible. Didn’t mean trust – he was his captor, his jailor, but he wasn’t the one who had slammed the boot into his chest, who had –

_-stop thinking about it-_

- _if you think about it Selim will see-_

And Selim saw that much, and Will could tell that he was trying _not_ to see, to respect him, but it still stung.

“Shit.” Pride grabbed a sheet, pulling it over Will. “He – god. He _left_ you like this?”

Will had forgotten how to speak again. He looked away from Pride, but when fingers touched his cheek, he lashed out, trying to bite at them –

Pride pulled his fingers back, completely unable to hide the look on his face. “I pushed it back. Tomorrow at the earliest, so you’ve got at least another day. And I don’t –“ He shook his head. “I’m not – I don’t –“

“Coward,” Will managed to spit out.

This time, Pride didn’t deny it. He just fiddled with the sheet, trying to keep Will warm, then frowned at the port where Mustang had yanked out the automail. He’d seen it in the corner – but Will could _feel_ that Mustang had damaged it. Not a lot, maybe. Just enough for it to hurt and not stop hurting. Then Pride closed his eyes, clearly trying to collect himself. “Did he do anything else?”

Will stopped breathing for a moment.

Pride opened his eyes, looking at him with pupils dilating in sudden anger. Anger at him? Or – “I see.”

“You’re on… the same side,” Will managed to say.

“It’s complic-“ Pride cut himself off. “Not by choice. I’m not –“ He kept changing his mind mid-sentence. “I have a _goal._ Something I _want._ I don’t hurt people for fun. And sometimes I don’t know what he wants.”

_That makes sense,_ Selim murmured. _They’re not coordinating. They don’t even like each other._

Will kept struggling with his words. “You were…” Which words did he want? They kept slipping away from him. “Did you mean… any of it?”

“Any of what?” He looked up at Will, making sudden eye contact, and then broke the contact. “Oh. The – oh.” He paused, chewing on his lip. Will almost hated that he’d taken on his ‘true’ form. Gold hair nearly haloing in the halogen light. He was gorgeous. Will bet he never wanted to scratch his own eyes out or carve the veins out of his arms.

Will began to think that Pride wasn’t going to answer, but then he leaned back against the wall, still looking miserable. “I wasn’t supposed to. I was keeping an eye on you. Collecting information. It was my idea, too. After that breakdown of yours, the therapy thing seemed natural enough. And I really _am_ a therapist. Went to school for it.”

Will tried to focus. His mind kept slipping down lines of thought that were familiar, but not helpful. _Kill him. Yes. Easier. Tear his throat out with your teeth, eat him alive, make him apologize and then hurt him anyway-_

-don’t, don’t, don’t-

“What… changed?” Selim was helping. Selim’s thoughts kept nudging his words back into the right order.

Pride shrugged. “Nothing, really. I didn’t want you dead – I mean, right away, anyway. So I needed you not to kill yourself. And I didn’t want you so deep in a hallucination that you levelled Central or something. So I helped. And the more I helped, the more I…” He stopped, staring at the floor.

_The more he started caring,_ Selim filled in. There was a softness to Selim’s thoughts.

_Still tried to kill me._

_Well, yes. I’m not sure he tried very hard._

Will tried to protest that, but even in the fog of his brain at the moment, he thought perhaps Selim had a point. “You don’t… surgery.” Fuck. Words again. “Don’t want this… to happen.”

“No. And _not_ because I’ve gone soft. This doesn’t help anybody. Mustang’s just being cruel because he likes being in control.”

“Let me go.”

“Absolutely not. I’m not turning on my own kind.”

That was about what he’d expected. Pride was having misgivings. That didn’t mean he was going to commit betrayal. Will chewed over his words again. The thoughts were still pinwheeling through his head, like a chorus of screams. _Kill them. Kill everybody who left you here. Kill them for hurting you._

“…Que- question.”

“What now?” Pride sounded a little exasperated – or stressed.

“You… talked to Alex. About. What he said to me. Our argument.” His mouth was so dry. And he was so, so overly aware of his body, even under the sheet, naked, vulnerable, hollow -

Pride pursed his lips. “…yes. Why?”

“Do you… agree with him?” Will took a deep breath, trying to sound brave, trying to find some last vestige of strength left, somewhere. He already knew what Selim wanted him to do. Not in words yet, no. But along with that, the Gatekeeper’s words were coming back to him. It felt like a hallucination, but maybe – maybe it was true. “I don’t mean to – it’s not. On purpose. You know I – I try. But it’s not – not hard enough.” His eyes were watering, He rubbed his face on his arm, angry that he couldn’t stop them.

Pride could have just walked away. That was usually his modus operandi here; he avoided the questions he didn’t feel like answering. But something had clearly changed; something was on his mind. So instead, he leaned over Will, pushing some of his cut hair out of his face. “You’re very young,” he murmured. It wasn’t really an answer. “People change. It happens.”

“But is it enough?”

“I – well –“ Pride hesitated. “I’m – I’m the wrong person to ask about forgiveness,” he said after a moment, something playing behind his expression that Will couldn’t catch. “I have to go.”

“D-don’t leave me here. On my own.”

“I have to. The nurses will be by in a little while, alright?” Pride hesitated. “…What about you, Will?”

“What about me?”

“You’re asking me if I agree with what Alex said. What about you?”

Will hesitated. His head wasn’t really clear enough for this. But he closed his eyes, trying to summon up all the times he’d thought about it before. God, he couldn’t –

_I remember,_ Selim said quietly, fondness coming through in his voice. _I’ll remember for you._

Will opened his eyes, still stumbling over his words. “…Some of it. I, um –“ He swallowed, licked his lips (KILL THEM ALL HE LEFT YOU HERE HE LEFT YOU HERE HE HURT YOU HE DOESN’T DESERVE THIS) but Selim had reminded him. There was space between the hatred and the pain. He couldn’t feel it. But he could remember it, with help. “I wasn’t…talking to him enough. He deserved better from me. But –“ God, he wasn’t even sure how much of this Pride had even been told. It was all mixed up in his head. He couldn’t even force himself to contrast this Pride with the man who’d had Denny’s body in his closet. Everything was so _much._ “I wasn’t hurting him on purpose. He thought I was. And I’m just – just sick. Not evil.”

That hadn’t been something he’d thought before. Selim had slipped that one in there for him.

_I’m just sick. Not evil._

Didn’t feel true. But Selim believed it.

Pride still looked miserable. It was strange. Will wouldn’t have thought it possible. “…Here. These are too tight,” he mumbled. He leant over and loosened the leather cuff on Will’s wrist, just a little. “You’re dealing with enough shit. Hurting you more is just kind of pointless.”

“Will you ever tell me who you are?”

“You know who I am.”

So that was a no.

Then Pride stuck his hands in his pockets, and took on a different form before he left. Walter Godfrey. The judge. He hadn’t been the judge before – Will _knew_ that. He’d been Dr. Holland, sitting in the front row next to the Fuhrer.

He was confirming what they already knew, with no more doubt – that either Jareth would be found guilty, or that it had happened already, that he was too late –

_-not too late,_ Selim reminded. _He’s not dead. The execution isn’t going to be right away._

But Will was distracted by something else entirely. Pride had been the judge for at least the verdict. Will wasn’t supposed to understand people. It was why this connection with Selim was such a shock. It was the first time he’d ever gotten to _see_ how another person worked, in any real way. The machinery behind other people’s eyes was a total mystery to him. Until his sessions with Dr. Holland, really, he’d assumed everybody worked the same way as him to some degree, even though Izumi and Alex and King had all tried to break him of it. They lashed out when they got angry. They did what they wanted and worried about consequences afterwards. If they hurt somebody, they probably hadn’t realized it was _that_ important until later, so you had to tell them, but you didn’t have to sugarcoat it, because if you dodged around something, they’d probably miss it. If you didn’t say something out loud, it might as well not exist.

He hadn’t even realized he’d gotten better at this. It didn’t fix the automatic assumptions. It still felt like he was faking it, or like everybody else was. But Dr. Holland had been the one to tell him that sometimes, people hid when they were upset –

-Will exhaled, feeling the little punch to his stomach, it didn’t _hurt,_ it just –

Like Alex.

People hid when they were upset because the other person’s problems mattered more, because they meant to bring it up later, because-

“ _Because they want to make sure they’re not going to make your life worse by telling you,” he’d said, that little smile on his face._

_“Because they can’t stop thinking about the consequences of what happens after, instead of not being able to think past it.”_

Like Izumi. If she’d talked about her mother. If she’d been truthful with them about her human transmutation.

_“Because they have to worry about the subtext. You can’t read it, but other people can, and some people have to trade in those vagaries. Like those whispers behind your back that stress you out so much,” Holland added, sympathetically. “You can’t pretend they don’t exist. But nobody will say it out loud.”_

Diana had made her career in furtive glances, codewords, implications. No wonder she couldn’t just say things straight out to him. He knew she had secrets upon secrets, but he’d never really thought about how _important_ they were. Jareth had told him about their real relation on purpose; she’d had to leave the room, not because she was embarrassed, but because she was scared.

None of this was really _new_ to him. He wasn’t _that_ bad at reading people. It was just landing again, overwhelming and dizzying, along with the certainty that Pride had had to declare the death sentence of an innocent man today and it was killing him. He didn’t know Pride. But he knew Dr. Holland, and the two weren’t as different as he’d thought. He didn’t understand how the same man could kill Denny Brosh and yet be wracked with clear guilt over something like this, but…

_He said it himself,_ said Selim. _He has a goal. He’ll do anything to achieve it, but that doesn’t mean he likes it._

It wasn’t sympathy, exactly. The broken trust still lingered under his breastbone like a shattered glass. But…

Will went through the plan in Selim’s head. And with more certainty than he really felt, he said, _Pride won’t stop us._

_How do you know?_

In answer, Will wriggled his hand free of the cuff that had been loosened just a few more notches than necessary.

_That’s how._

* * *

If Pride – Edward – whatever – had been smarter, he would have gone to Sloth, or Envy. Even Wrath. Instead, with his heart thrumming in his chest and his childhood home feeling far too close around him, his feet took him through the corridors and hallways, up the grand staircase, to the master suite that still stood in its grand splendor.

Dante was seated at her boudoir, brushing out her new hair. “Oh, Pride, dear. I was wondering where you’d gotten to. I hear the trial’s over.”

“Yeah.”

“Come here, come here. This hair is too long to brush on my own.”

He nodded, and took the brush from her, pulling it gently through the waves of black hair. Dante always had a predilection for bodies that resembled her old one, and this one was no exception. Young, maybe; but his mental image of his mother always had black hair, ivory skin, and eyes that, no matter the colour, could shift between piercing and teasing at a moment’s notice. She always leaned towards short, too; small-breasted, thin-waisted, vulnerable. Mei was a little chubby, but Dante was already fixing that.

“Do you like it?”

“Hm?” He started, looking up and catching their twin reflections in the triptych mirror. He didn’t look like her son. Only the red markings on his shoulders and arms matched him with her in any way – the crimson of her dress and the flamel that she’d already marked above her left breast.

“My new body.”

“It’s very pretty. Hopefully it’ll last.”

“Well, we’ll see about that,” she sighed. “It’s certainly doing a lovely job so far. Now will you tell me what’s on your mind before I have to beat it out of you?” She made it sound like a joke, even though it wasn’t, really.

He laughed anyway, in part because he was supposed to, and in part because he _was_ amused. Her hair was soft in his hands, and he liked brushing it; it felt intimate in a way that didn’t hurt. “Oh, just…” He shrugged. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Do what, dear?”

“Not care.”

He waited for her to lash out, use some emotional trick on him, lambast him for thinking she didn’t care. That was her usual playbook, certainly on the younger ones. It had been on him for a long time; but especially ever since Envy, things had changed. Not a lot; just enough for their relationship to change. She knew perfectly well that she was a monster, and she knew that he knew it too. The artifice couldn’t hold up for that long with no cracks. Habit kicked in from time to time, but still –

Dante sighed, arching her neck as he gathered her hair to the side and began to braid it into a single French braid. “I don’t know how you manage to care so much, _still,_ after all this time. It’s exhausting, caring. After a while, it’s much easier to stop.”

“I don’t know how,” he said quietly. “Even after all this time. I know I should.”

Dante held his gaze in the mirror. “Some part of you is still holding onto hope. Or perhaps you’re afraid that if you become a monster, you’ll be proving him right.”

Pride’s hands stuttered, nearly losing hold of the braid, and he broke the gaze.

“Monsters win, Pride. Hohenheim was a coward. And he can call us monsters all he wants, but never forget what it was he did to me as he left.” Rage flared in her eyes. “And what he did to you.”

He willed his hands to stop shaking. He hadn’t needed the reminder –

He had. Alex had thrown him, by telling him he was ‘worse than Will’. But Alex had no idea. Alex knew so little about his father that while he had questions about Pride’s face, he certainly wouldn’t believe it if Pride claimed that he was the _son_ of Hohenheim, not some long lost ancestor.

He just had to not care. That was fine.

_And what about when you face the consequences from aboveground?_

He could think about that later. A practice run of his new bout of not-caring, how about that? And him determinedly not thinking about how Hohenheim likely wouldn’t have cared for what his second son had turned into, either.

“Greed talked to me earlier,” Dante said after a little while. “It seems the two of you have been sniping at each other again.”

Pride felt himself turn red. “Sorry.”

“Oh, it’s fine, Pride, dear. As far as I’m concerned,” she said with a grin, “it keeps things interesting. But you _have_ been awfully stressed, haven’t you?”

He began to move away, but she caught his hand. “Don’t be so shy. Stay with me.”

He didn’t want to. He never wanted to. But refusal wasn’t an option, and…

Dante rose from her seat, hands pressing to his cheeks, and pulled him into a kiss. She didn’t love him. He knew that. This wasn’t love, and he’d spent centuries working on convincing himself of that. Love didn’t hurt.

But god, he still didn’t know how not to care.

* * *

_“I PLEAD GUILTY. I’M A QUEER. LET EVERYONE GO HOME.”: THE FINAL TESTIMONY OF JARETH VALJEAN_

_With a burst of expletive fury and clear exhaustion, Jareth Valjean pled guilty from the stand today, demolishing the careful defense of Amue Armstrong in a self-destructive rant that may yet be some of the lasting words from this trial._

_“You want me to tell you I’m a queer? Sure. Fine. Whatever. I’m a queer… Just get it over with, and let everyone go home._ _Fuck you.” [Vulgarity retained for the purpose of honest reporting.]_

_Amue Armstrong, when reached by the paper afterwards, confessed that her client had not spoken to her about this prior to the court session. “I think he just… gave up,” she said, with tears in her eyes. “I believe, with all my heart, that he is innocent of what he’s been accused. I took on this defense because it’s my job, and often my clients are guilty. Not this time.” When asked if she had ever had a client plea guilty on the stand, she answered, “Absolutely not. Usually, if a plea is changed, it’s through me and in the judge’s chambers. This was a breakdown, plain and simple. Frank Archer and the higher-ups of this military drove a man to what is effectively suicide, and they should be ashamed of themselves.”_

_Archer himself has a different take on the matter. “Innocent people don’t confess. If his conscience drove him to plea guilty, then all’s well.” When asked about the rest of Valjean’s speech, Archer scoffed. “Armstrong spent most of the trial claiming he was a man of upstanding morals, and the moment he spoke for himself, he tore that down. I think that speaks for itself.”_

_Valjean himself at this time could not be reached for comment, leaving his final speech and his prior interview with the Gazette as his final statements – and two very different ones. And despite the trial’s claim to search for the truth, it seems that the events around the final hours of Brigadier-General Maes Hughes’s life are no clearer than before._

_Jareth Valjean is set to be executed by firing squad tomorrow morning for the murder of a fellow officer._


	50. Beyond The Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: passive suicidality/accepting death, self-injury, very gruesome (apparent) death, parental abuse, drugs/needles, misogyny, grief, intersex slur (used and then like immediately condemned), intersexism, homophobic, anti-sex worker sentiment, implied sexual assault, pedophilia (accusations of), gun violence,

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAAAA. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. I DID IT. THIS IS CHAPTER 100 OVERALL OF LSNA. HOLY SHIT. HOLY SHIT I NEVER THOUGHT I’D GET HERE.
> 
> ALSO I AM NOT SPOILING THIS CHAPTER SO NOTES AT THE BOTTOM.
> 
> Song is by YelLOW Generation, and is the second ending for the 03 anime. (Also just. An amazing song. I love it SO MUCH.)

~50~

_Bokura wa itsudemo sakenderu  
Shinji-tsuzukeru dake ga kotae ja nai  
Yowasa mo kizu mo sarakedashite  
Mogaki-tsuzukenakereba hajimaranai  
Tsukiyabure tobira no mukou e_

_~_

_The two of us are screaming all the time  
Just continuing to believe isn't the answer  
Expose your weaknesses and your wounds  
If we don't continue to struggle, nothing will begin  
So break through, beyond the door_

**_-Tobira no Mukou E (Beyond The Door)_ **

There was this cliché that Jareth had always heard about your life ‘flashing before your eyes’. He thought it was ridiculous. He’d been in so many near-death experiences, and he’d never had that happen. Usually he was preoccupied with getting _out_ of the experience in question. But on the morning he was slated to die, he realized that it was when you _knew_ there was nothing you could do that it really happened.

It didn’t help that Georgie had spent most of the night yelling at him. The kid could get fired up when he wanted to. Jareth had managed to block him out, but the end result was that most of the cell block knew what had happened. Georgie had ended up dissolving into tears, and Jareth had pulled him into his arms, wanting to apologize and not really having anything left to give. Georgie had _still_ been calling him a stupid bugger, but it was alright. Once somebody’d known you since he was ten, he got into the habit of insulting you. It just kind of worked out that way. Which, admittedly, explained a lot about Will.

But Georgie meant he was thinking about Diana. Which meant he was thinking about Maes. And he wondered if the religious nuts had the right idea. Amestris was firmly and strictly atheist, but the Halky weren’t; he knew enough about Orthodox Sveyati and other various branches of the descendant Sveyati religions to know that you were supposed to see your loved ones after they died. So maybe he’d see Maes again. Maybe he’d actually get to meet his mother properly, beyond a fuzzy handful of memories that he weren’t even sure were real. So, not all bad. And everyone else would just… catch up, eventually.

Shame he couldn’t quite get the hang of being religious. He knew Havoc’s family was, even though they hid it. The concept seemed nice, but having faith in things wasn’t worth it.

He put his hands to his face. He was trying to stop hoping, and just get it over with. He wanted to stop wanting to talk to Diana. _Get the hint. She calculated the risk and the math wasn’t in your favour. You’ve seen her do that with other people._ Like Martel’s Black Ops team – all four of them. He should have guessed, but –

The past came to meet him like a wave. Not so much ‘flashing before his eyes’. That was the part people were wrong about. That implied it went by quickly.

- _faster than you think-_

“What did you want to show me?” They were still adjusting to new names. Laura and Diana existed side by side in his head, still a week away from the entrance exam. And the two of _them –_

Jareth shifted, trying not to give away how unsure he still was. They’d put together their relationship a while ago, now, and still weren’t entirely sure where they stood. Well, at least _he_ didn’t. He’d thought, maybe, once he’d found out Laura was his sister, that the switch would flick in his brain and he would stop being attracted to her. It hadn’t. Not with time, either.

Laura – Diana – sighed, crossing one leg over the other and just distracting him more. She really needed some longer skirts. “ _Jareth._ Brain on, please.”

“Uh. Right. Um, you’re an alchemist.”

“Yes. You knew that the night we met,” she said, then added sardonically, “Which is how you _got_ into my window in the first place.”

He hated the idea of talking about this. It was actually Maes who’d pushed him about it. “She’s gonna notice eventually, buddy,” he’d said. “You’re _well fuckin’ fit,_ and you never take off your damn shirt?”

“I don’t – I don’t do alchemy,” he stammered out finally. “I know a lot about it. Cuz my – I guess, our dad – _he_ was an alchemist.”

“You’ve mentioned that.”

“He researched flame alchemy. Powerful, dangerous shit. And he didn’t want anybody finding his research who he didn’t trust, or who didn’t at least have to go through some crap to deal with it, but he didn’t want it _lost_ either.” Suddenly – horribly – his eyes were stinging. He blinked it away. He wasn’t some fuckin’ _crybaby._

“So he trusted you to bring it to an alchemist?”

“No,” he breathed, quiet as a heartbeat. “No, he didn’t even – he didn’t even _like_ me, Laura.” He couldn’t get it out – that he _had_ been an alchemist. That he _could_ have been. “No, I wasn’t good for anything. I was good for one thing, and one thing only.”

She was starting to look concerned. “Wh-what?”

_Canvas._

Instead of making himself say it, he sat down on the bed next to her, shoulders turned just away from her, and pulled off his shirt. Then he steeled himself, preparing for the reaction. Tattoos weren’t anything for him to be ashamed of. He kept trying to remind himself of that. He was a _man,_ wasn’t he? He was tough. It was just some needles and ink.

Diana’s fingers traced the lines on his skin. “Oh,” she exhaled. “Oh, I –“ She cut herself off. Then she leaned in, quiet as a feather’s touch, and pressed a kiss to the curve of his shoulder. “You’re trusting me,” she murmured.

He had. He’d trusted her. And now his back was marked up and scarred, a functional array under a few layers of skin but no longer a source of information, and he wasn’t useful to her anymore.

_You can’t possibly believe that._

He wasn’t sure he did, but he didn’t have any time left.

Jareth looked at the clock. Two hours left until they came for him. They’d offer him a last meal, but he didn’t particularly feel like eating. And he could say goodbye to his family, if he had any. The irony was beautiful. Who did he have left? His family had been Maes and Diana –

“Valjean?”

He started. “What?”

It was one of the guards. One of the nicer ones, too. “There’s family here to see you.”

Diana? No, they wouldn’t call her family. The guard escorted him to the front of the jail, then stood back as he stepped into the visiting room.

Elysia launched herself forward and wrapped herself around his leg.

Jareth blinked in surprise – only made worse when Gracia wrapped her arms around him. “But…why… why are you here?” he asked, so confused that his head wanted to spin.

“I – got wind that the Colonel wasn’t here,” Gracia said softly. “And even besides the fact that somebody _should_ be…” She sighed, and smiled in that gentle, flower-girl way she had about her. “I think you’ve always assumed I don’t like you, and that’s never been true. You’re – you were – Maes’s family. That means you’re mine, too.”

He couldn’t quite swallow away the lump in his throat. The doubt had always _kind_ of been there, and exacerbated by the trial. It was hard, when your first love married a woman; he’d met other men who’d had the same problem. Not even because he was angry, or jealous of Maes like the trial had tried to make out. Just because you knew you could never compare to her, and you knew just as much that she probably thought the same thing about you.

He picked up Elysia, trying to keep his brave face on. “You are getting _tall,_ miss. Who gave you permission to do that?”

“Nobody! I’m tall on my own!”

He wasn’t doing a very good job of faking it for Elysia. But Gracia probably knew that. And it made the time pass less unbearably slowly.

* * *

“When did these people start mattering so much to _you?”_ the boy with no face scoffed. His features were a scribble of graphite. Like a kid’s drawing.

Will tried not to acknowledge him, but Selim had actually _planned_ for this, somehow. Will hadn’t been stable for a while now; and it almost hurt, in a way he couldn’t describe, that Selim had _listened._ That Selim wasn’t judging him for still hallucinating when it was inconvenient. “…I dunno. They’ve been nice to me.”

“Oh, that’s all it takes now? People are nice to you and you’re slobbering all over their hands like a good puppy?”

God, he _really_ hated this guy. The theory behind him was all fine and good, that it was his own low self-esteem spitting back at him, but that didn’t make Will want to tear his skin off any less. Only the quiet grounding from his other half, the reminder that he’d only be hurting _himself,_ stopped him – and the fact that he had a task. A goal. He had something to accomplish, something important. Something real.

That _did_ help. He wasn’t struggling to find meaning now that his meaning had turned on him. Diana and Jareth – he’d never thought they _would_ need him.

_What if I told you there might just be a way to fix things?_

Manipulated, or saved? Recruited, or mentored?

The clock ticked over. Seven thirty. Shift change. The execution was at eight. He had half an hour. At least, if Falman’s information was correct.

_He’s radioing directly with somebody in Central, so unless Mustang’s caught wind, it should be right._

_Half an hour is pretty tight, Selim._

_I know, but with the nurses so understaffed, you’re only going to get one. Maybe two, but you can handle two._

_I’m naked._

_When has that stopped you?_

Will opened his mouth, felt himself turn a little red, and just stuck his tongue out. Selim couldn’t _really_ see it, but still.

Footsteps outside the door. Will waited. The door opened, and a small man let himself in, a little out of shape, with glasses that kept sliding down his nose. Just one. _Perfect._ The chain of information had held. Falman had talked to somebody in Central, and passed it on to Selim, who’d passed it on to him. There was a shortage of nurses, because half of them had protested, and been locked up. The ones who were still on staff were overworked and underslept, hardly at their best.

“Oof. Alright, uh, Will Elric. Great,” he mumbled. “Love being here on my own with the psy- uh,” he caught himself. “You’re awake. Cool. That’s fine.”

Will gave what he figured was probably close enough to an innocent smile. The nurse didn’t seem any more comforted by it.

_Get ready,_ Selim whispered. Will saw it through Selim’s eyes. Selim was lying down as well, and Pinako was holding up the needle –

The adrenaline plunged into Selim’s arm, and Will’s spine arced up against the table. The nurse yelped and jumped back, then remembering what his job was, leaned over Will, checking his pulse, then grabbing a little light from his pocket and shining it into his eyes.

Will slid his wrist out from the loosened cuff, grabbed the nurse by the hair and flipped over him, slamming him to the ground. His head didn’t _quite_ hit the floor; he needed the nurse awake and alert. “Hey buddy.” He pulled the new scalpel from underneath the mattress. This time, it’d work. “I need your help.”

“Oh, god,” he whispered. “Please don’t kill me-“

Will slammed a hand over the nurse’s mouth. “Not gonna kill you. _If._ You do what you’re told. Get me some clothes and a wheelchair.”

“And if I don’t?”

Will turned the scalpel over in his hand. “I’m not crazy. But I _am_ famous for a reason. You don’t want to cross me. Got it?”

The nurse’s eyes flickered between the scalpel and Will’s face, making clear calculations. Then he nodded, face white as a sheet. He disappeared outside, and Will was left alone again. Seven-thirty-five. He hoped the nurse’s calculations had fallen in his favour.

His automail. Mustang had thrown it into the corner, and the nurses, fearing Mustang’s wrath, had just kind of left it there. All the better for him. He didn’t have to search for it. But…

Will picked it up with a flip of his stomach. _Selim, how does it look?_

_Show me the connector._

Will turned to look at the connecting joint where it slipped into the port. It didn’t look good. Mustang hadn’t unplugged it properly – he’d just _wrenched_ it out. Which…

_That’s not possible. It would take the force of a jackhammer to_ yank _it out of a port without unclipping it properly._

It slid into place with a horrifying clunk. _Or a homunculus?_

Selim was quiet for a moment, thoughts going static for a moment. Mustang didn’t age. Mustang was horrifyingly strong. Pride and Mustang worked together. _Oh._

_Oh._

_We might be fucked._

_Not necessarily. Just… now we know. Or suspect. I don’t know, maybe he escaped from a freak show,_ Will tried to joke. _Is it fixable? Like, right now?_

_I think so. I wish I could see your port._

Will felt around, trying to touch the exposed port. There was a sizzle of nerve endings, and he bit his lip. _Motherfucker. It kind of always feels like that when it’s open, to be fair._

_Yeah, there’s a reason it’s not supposed to be open. I hate how people treat automail like it’s detachable. It’s not! You take it off to clean it! That’s it! You can’t just –_

_Selim._

_Sorry. Yes. Uh, from what you’re feeling, it seems like a few of the connections might be fried, but nothing is actually broken. So you might have some janky movements, twitches, stuff like that. Unpredictable movements._

_Just the thing for somebody who’s about to get into a life-threatening situation where he’s going to fight for his life._

_It’s better than fighting with one arm and half the nerves of your right side exposed, Will. And the connections in the arm itself are… I think you can actually bend those back into place. Luckily._

_Really?_ Will tried not to sound skeptical.

_Yeah. Those parts are actually pretty tensile. Just don’t wiggle them too much or they’ll break, and then one of your fingers won’t move or something._

_Or something?_

_I don’t have the manual open in front of me! I’m a genius, I don’t have the schematics of_ every _piece of automail I make memorized!_

Will chuckled despite himself. Well, here went nothing. He carefully located the pieces that were clearly bent out of shape and carefully wiggled them back into being straight. If only straightness worked like that everywhere else.

_I heard that._

_I’m sure there’s another joke there about square pegs and round holes-_

_Is this really the time?_

Selim was blushing, Will noticed with a grin. It was probably just the adrenaline that had him so bouncy, but it meant he wasn’t thinking too hard about the possibility of failure. Or the fact that this was going to fucking hurt. He lined the automail up with the port, and then shoved it against the wall.

_MOTHERFUCK-_

 _“JESUS CHR-_ “ came the curse from his other half, off in Rizenbul.

“What happened?” King asked in concern. Will was confused at first – and then suppressed the urge to laugh. Selim hadn’t taken any of the pain last time he’d connected it. And this time, he hadn’t thought about it. The connection had only been getting stronger and stronger, anyway.

“ _Dad,”_ Selim said exhaustedly, “ _I think we need to be nicer to our customers. That really hurts.”_

“I knew that,” King replied, sounding a touch aggrieved. “I _told_ you that. I have automail!”

_“…Right. I should have believed you.”_

The door opened again and the nurse slid back in, holding a hospital gown, an extra pair of scrubs and a wheelchair. “I don’t think this is going to work,” he whispered insistently. “I’m not doing this for you! There was double security on the hospital the _first_ time you got kidnapped, and now there’s _triple_ because of the protests. No way are you going to get out. And then Mustang’s going to throw me in prison _forever,_ ” he mumbled.

“Live a little. What’s your name?”

“Farris. Herb Farris.”

_Whoof,_ Selim said in the background. “Farris, haven’t you ever wanted to say ‘fuck the system’?”

“No! I like the system! The system keeps me fed! The system stops me from losing my paperwork! The system is organized and lovely and doesn’t _confuse_ me.”

“Man, you remind me of somebody.”

“If you say Sheska Thomas, I may just die on the spot,” Farris sighed.

“See? Little mousey librarian still said fuck the system eventually.”

Farris just grumped at him. “I _still_ don’t know how you’re going to get out. You’re pretty recognizable. And I don’t like prison. Prison has rats. And mold. And _roommates._ ”

_I can’t decide if this man needs a raise, a vacation or a right hook to the jaw,_ Selim sighed in frustration.

_He’s right, though._ Then Will had an idea-

_No. NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. The automail hurt bad enough!_

_You’re the one with all the drugs._

_I – You – But that’s insane –_

_Do you have a better idea?_

_…No,_ Selim admitted.

Will grabbed the scalpel, and Farris scampered away. “What does a lobotomy scar look like?”

“A…” Farris blanched. “Oh dear.”

“C’mon, Farris. Work with me.”

“You said you weren’t crazy!”

“That… was a lie. I’m sorry. Now tell me what a lobotomy scar is or I’ll have to fake it, and that’ll get messy, _fast._ ”

“I think I don’t like you,” Farris said breathlessly. “Goes in through the corner of the eye or through the top of the socket – it doesn’t, doesn’t really leave a scar, but-“

Selim’s nausea was so strong that it was throwing Will off-balance. _Like a fucking ice-pick to the brain. That’s not medicine, that’s torture._

“They’ll be looking for black eyes, a bit of blood over the eye, then. Right?” Will asked, and Farris nodded. Eyebrows bled a lot. And they weren’t gonna check _under_ the bandages.

Will landmarked with his fingers over his eyesocket, steeling himself. He couldn’t slip. If he slipped, and the scalpel actually went anywhere his eye, he could lose his sight. Temporarily or permanently – neither was a good option right now.

_I don’t know what you’d do if I wasn’t here,_ Selim said morbidly. Then he told Pinako, _“I’m gonna need some morphine.”_

“Morphine?”

_“You don’t want to know,”_ he breathed. There was a reason Selim had sent King and Falman into a different room.

The blade bit into Will’s skin just below his eyebrow, and he immediately regretted it as the blood began to drip down into his eye. Still, he dragged it along, severing the skin and feeling his body _scream,_ the adrenaline not enough to sustain it –

The morphine hit, and he was floating. Floating wasn’t going to be great for later. It worked for now. Still hurt. Half of his vision was red –

Farris began to dab the blood away with gauze, his face still white, but lips set in determination. “…If you’re that serious about getting out,” he said, “I…” His voice failed him, and he glanced away. Will wondered what was going through his head. He still had his job, when so many of his coworkers didn’t, imprisoned for standing up for themselves and their friends. Perhaps his cowardice was weighing on him more than he was willing to admit.

_You are better at this people thing than you let yourself admit._ Selim was still twitching from the pain. _Also, ow._

“Selim, what on earth –“

Crap. He’d forgotten that happened now. The cut on his end wasn’t disappearing, luckily. He needed that, although the bloodstained bandages around his head would do the trick. But it _was_ showing up on Selim.

” _I’ll explain later,_ ” Selim struggled out.

Seven-forty-five. They were going to run out of time.

Will collapsed into the chair, pulling on the scrubs and the hospital gown over them. No shoes. That was fine. He worked better barefoot anyway. “Get me out of here, Farris.”

“Where to?”

“Just… out. And _fast._ ”

* * *

It was policy. Custom, almost. Both – for commanding officers to attend executions of their subordinates. It was meant to be a comfort for both; a friendly, or at least familiar, face at the last moments.

Diana wasn’t sure she could do it. Diana wasn’t sure she could live with herself if she didn’t.

If she’d had Havoc with her, maybe she could have. If she’d had Hughes with her. But Havoc was in the hospital, struggling to hold onto life with a bullet lodged in his jaw. Hughes was six feet deep. Sheska had disappeared in the middle of the night, and Diana prayed that she had vanished on her own, rather than Mustang’s goons cleaning up and ‘disappearing’ inconvenient people. She wouldn’t have believed he’d do that kind of thing, a month ago. A lifetime ago. She’d known he was a dictator. She had just thought…

_Thought what, Diana? That he wasn’t_ that _kind of dictator? All dictators are that kind of dictator. Some are just better at hiding it._

There was a knock at the door. Diana swallowed, staring in the mirror. Makeup, but not too much. Hair tied into her formal bun at the base of her neck. Her cap, full uniform. And…

Hawkeye had left her the photograph. That was fine. Hawkeye had probably copied it, anyway. But it meant _she_ had it. It might be the last thing she had left.

She opened the door, expecting Mustang with some new awful grin and sugary, slimy courtship on his lips. Instead, it was Amue, dressed in black with a net over her face. She wasn’t any more beautiful, but she cut a striking figure.

“Ms. Solaris,” she said, inclining her head. It was an odd address. On one hand, it was almost impolite, leaving her rank out. On the other hand, Amue usually – so far, anyway, in their fleeting interactions, had only called her Solaris, sometimes Colonel. And it was possible that Amue had guessed – accurately – that the last thing Diana needed right now was a reminder of the rank she had earned in blood. “I wondered if you wanted company.”

“I…” She swallowed. “I wouldn’t mind it. Are you going now?”

“I am.” Amue offered her arm, and Diana took it, trying not to smile. It was a masculine gesture, but probably a learned one. Whether or not Amue herself was queer, she’d likely been pushed into that role, her size and musculature dictating it for her. So when they reached the street, Diana changed sides – still taking Amue’s arm, but standing on the street side, where gentlemen usually stood. She looked slyly up at Amue to see if she’d noticed.

A slight flush settled on her face. “Most people don’t bother, Solaris.”

“All the more reason for me to.” She looked up at Amue, squeezing her arm a little. “You were magnificent. Please don’t think otherwise.”

“Don’t think for a moment that I’m hung up on my own pride. I’m not that heartless.”

“I wouldn’t fault you for having it on your mind.”

Amue narrowed her eyes at Diana, then sighed, smiling slightly. “I can see why you and my sister got along. Initially, anyway.”

“That surprises me,” she grumbled.

“I also see why it didn’t last.”

She almost laughed. She wasn’t quite in the mood for it – but still. “I don’t suppose she talks about it.”

“Oh, good _lord_ no. It’s supposed to be a secret.” Amue nearly rolled her eyes. “In much the same way that my and Strongine’s condition is a secret. Or Sander’s interests.”

“If it’s any help, the latter two were complete surprises to me.” Diana paused, considering how often Sander took off his shirt. “Well, maybe not _complete_ surprises. You and Strongine are twins, right?”

“Identical, yes.”

“Is it alright if I ask about what condition it is?”

Amue pursed her lips, but she seemed to understand that Diana wanted to talk about anything _other_ than what today was. “From anybody else I think I’d be offended, but given that you apparently collect oddballs and freakshows, I’m going to take you at face value.”

“…That’s certainly one way to describe my unit and friend group.” Somehow, she suspected Amue was quoting her older sister.

“You didn’t think I looked like this naturally?”

Diana glanced at Amue’s arms – like a bodybuilder, just as muscled as Sander’s – the lantern jaw, the sheer _height –_ “I suppose I never thought too deeply about it. Women come in all shapes and sizes.” _Sometimes they come in the shape of boys, and haven’t said out loud how much happier they’d be as anything else,_ she thought, although she wouldn’t yet – or possibly ever – say it out loud. Will’s business was his own.

Amue didn’t respond explicitly to that, but she did look a little taken aback at it. Certainly Diana believed she’d probably gotten more aggressive responses as the norm. “I looked more… normal, when I was younger. Strongine too. Armstrongs are always a _little_ tall, so it didn’t seem abnormal until we started hitting our teens.” She started to look embarrassed. “It’s… not talked about.”

Diana smiled, the grief that she could feel approaching almost making her braver. And… she trusted Amue. She probably shouldn’t, but her paranoia had cost her so much already. She couldn’t make herself maintain it any longer. “There’s a lot that isn’t talked about that should be. If that’s any comfort. I changed my name, before signing up to the military.”

“To hide being Xingese?”

“In part. The other part is because I was a brothel girl.”

Amue stared at her in shock. But Diana knew she was in good hands, because she could feel the muscles under her hand relax. “That…explains far more than I thought it would.”

“ _Doesn’t_ it?”

“Don’t make me laugh, Diana, I’m wearing black. It looks bad.”

“ _Now_ you’re calling me Diana. That’s better.”

Amue was smiling now. That was good. “…I’m a hermaphrodite,” she said after a while. “That’s the term the doctor uses. I absolutely _despise_ it, myself. It’s insulting, and inaccurate. But it’s true that I have just as many masculine features as feminine ones.”

Diana nodded, listening.

“I’m infertile, therefore unmarriageable. And certainly I have no prospects for love. And I rely on medication to keep me alive. It’s… certainly a rather dry existence. And I thought for a moment…” Amue glanced away, looking very far away. “I thought, perhaps, my name and my family would be enough to swing the scales in somebody’s favour. Gender, and its ridiculous rules, have shaped my entire life. And now despite my efforts, the stipulations of gender are being used to kill somebody I’ve… come to care for.”

Diana felt her chest ache. She wanted to have something to say, but she had no comfort to offer. _Gender and its ridiculous rules._ It was interesting, wasn’t it? So many of the people she knew had similar complaints, and yet they all ended up in conflict with each other. And you wondered who on earth was running the damn place. She and Olivier had thought, well, two ambitious female officers, both of them queer, certainly they _should_ get along. And the sex had been wonderful, but they were such _different_ people. And…

She felt so hollow. Jareth was _popular._ Not with the upper echelons – between his war rep and his casual insubordination issues, it would never happen – but even the people who didn’t like him, liked him. Maria Ross thought he was a misogynist jerk and she had still gotten arrested protesting his treatment, because she _liked_ him. And he was still dying today.

“I’m sorry. I know today is difficult for y-“

“Don’t,” she snapped. Amue didn’t flinch away. She just continued to walk alongside her –

Something was happening. There was a barricade across the road, military police guarding it. “What’s going on?” Diana asked.

“Look for yourself.”

Diana looked past the set of two barricades. There were people protesting – _more_ people. Different people. “What’s…”

“There’s _two_ sets. We’re trying to keep them away from each other.” He wasn’t one of the military police she knew, but he seemed so stressed that Diana almost felt bad anyway. “I don’t like either of them frankly, but that’s also because I’m waitin’ for one or the other of them to start whacking us with the picket signs.”

“What are they protesting?” Amue asked, sounding frustrated.

“One side is protesting the Jareth Valjean execution happening today. The other side is protesting _them_ and claiming it’s a…” He scratched his temple. “Um. Something about draining the swamp of moral corruption. I dunno how I feel about it. We’re guarding the edges so nobody wanders in, and we got more guys in the middle, but-“ Then he looked up, and realized who Diana was. “Oh _bollocks,_ ” he swore, and Diana in her haze was amused to find herself in the company of a fellow Westerner. “Move back, lass, tha’ _canna_ be caught here. Not now. Not _you._ ”

“Did he switch languages?” Amue asked in confusion.

“They know who I am?” Diana ignored Amue, asking the military policeman.

“Aye, _everybody_ does, lass,” he grumbled. “An’ I ken if summat’s fixed t’ spark the flame, it’s thee. Pardon the pun. Thee – er – you’ve gotta go ‘round. Uh, Fairway and Bellevue’s clear. Quick, afore somebody catches wind and makes trouble.”

Diana nodded and grabbed Amue, giving him a wave of thanks before they moved away at a fast clip.

“I’m – I’m sorry, what language was that?”

“Northwest Amestris, somewhere between Pendleton and Riviere.”

“That wasn’t Amestrian.”

Diana exhaled, adrenaline already spiking. Protests. There were _protests._

_No. Don’t let yourself hope._

“It’s, uh –“ Amue was asking a question. “The West is… weird. You get dialect differences everywhere in Amestris, but it’s the strongest in the West.”

“That was a _dialect?_ How did you understand it?”

“West City dialect isn’t that different. A little less strong, and there’s some different words, but I catch most of it.” Then Diana’s chest hurt again, and she tried to push past it, even as the roof of her mouth stung with the effort of keeping herself together. Just her, now. “Maes, Jareth and I all had to – we taught ourselves the Central accent on purpose.”

Amue nodded, but her mind had already shifted gears. “…Protests. _Civilian_ protests.” She murmured. “There’s going to be bloodshed.”

“Possibly.” She paused. “Probably. I hope not.”

State Alchemists had been unleashed on Ishval over protests. And people forgot all too often – Well. It was easy to say that Amestris wouldn’t do that to its own citizens. But the Ishvalans had been Amestrian citizens, too.

* * *

The surgery prep room was right at the end of Ward One. The elevator down to the main foyer of the hospital was on the other side. It was just one hallway.

Will was sweating anyway. _Dead eyes. Blank stare. Relax your grip._ This wasn’t even the most stressful part. His forehead hurt. Farris had cleaned it up with rubbing alcohol, but there hadn’t been time for stitches, so it throbbed, open and aching, under the bandages. Seven forty-six. Seven-forty-seven.

Farris was going so slowly.

_Relax,_ Selim urged him. _The second dose of adrenaline is for the garage. There’ll be something there, but take the first car you can find._

_See, this is what I’m lost on. I can’t drive. At all._

_I…_ Selim hesitated. _Well, I HAVE driven. Twice._

_Great. Filling me with confidence._

_My dad can drive pretty well, and so can Pinako. The tractors work the same way as the Model Ts, so it should be fine._

_You don’t sound confident enough for my liking._

_You’re never going to get there on foot in time, Will._

Will forced himself to relax some more. He hated cars. Being in them was one thing. But he was part machine as it was. Cars were so _bulky._ And why drive what was essentially a tiny, unpredictable train that only held four people? What was the _point?_ They looked stupid. _I would prefer a horse._

 _And I’m sure you’d cut a very striking figure,_ Selim drawled.

Will stayed sitting back in the chair. Almost at the elevator. Almost –

The elevator opened. Will tried not to look up. Blue uniform. No watch, which was… good, he thought.

“Oh? Is that – why, I do believe it is.”

Will stayed very, very still. The face that bent down into the field of his vision was Frank Archer.

_I thought he’d be at the execution,_ Selim seethed. _Bastard. Can’t even see his work through._

Archer snapped his fingers in front of Will’s face. Will managed not to react. “He’s already been lobotomized? I wanted to interview him. Last details of the case, you know. And he never testified.”

“S-s-sorry, sir. Fu-fu-fuhrer’s orders.”

Archer narrowed his eyes at Farris. “You’re awfully nervous.” He lowered his face down to Will’s. “…And _you,_ ” he said quietly, “have your automail on.”

“Seemed – seemed d-disrespectful oth-otherwise, sir-“

“Shut your gob.”

Farris shut up.

Archer inhaled, then exhaled, still watching Will. “You can’t fool me,” he breathed. “I know what Grant, or Jareth, or whatever his fucking name is, is like. Or _was_ like,” he said, with a pleased grin. “Give or take a few minutes. You were one of his little conquests, weren’t you? A little treat for the pederast.”

Selim was confused for a moment – and then his fury lanced through Will’s head, so much stronger than Will’s own. Anger on Will’s behalf, he realized. It was more infectious than he’d planned… and yet, less impulsive.

He opened his jaw, pretending to be struggling with its laxity, trying to form words. “Ah… ah…” A string of drool began to form at the corner of his mouth.

Archer laughed. Behind him, the elevator gates closed, the box itself lowering down to the first floor. “I suppose I was wrong. Shame Jareth isn’t here to see it.” He straightened up.

Will kicked straight out at him, both feet colliding into Archer’s stomach. He went sailing backwards, the elevator gate breaking behind him and rattling down the elevator shaft. Archer almost went with it – but his hand caught the edge of the entrance. “Get him!” he hissed.

Farris stumbled backwards, away from the action, and the two people who’d been with Archer went for Will. And just like magic –

-the second adrenaline shot hit, early. Pinako was paying attention.

Hell _yes._

Will felt alive again for the first time in – god, how long had he actually been in here? The best part was, they weren’t military. They were private protection. The first one’s neck cracked between his hands like it was a pencil. The second was tougher. Will dodged his fists, but just barely, air hissing past his ears as the massive hands sliced through the air. They were like fucking _rocks._ One hit would smash him open.

So he’d better not get hit.

He slammed his hands together and onto his automail, and the blade slammed through the second man’s chest with brutal efficiency. He felt Selim look away in mute horror, and he _did_ feel bad. But private protection didn’t mean anything good. He’d had his suspicions about Archer for a while. And besides. They’d sat by and let him mock a braindead kid. He didn’t have any sympathy.

Archer had managed to pull himself free of the elevator shaft. “You…” He pulled out his gun.

He needed a distraction. The other nurses were milling around, trying to decide what to do. And – he glanced back at Farris – he wanted to give the guy a shield.

Trisha leaned over his shoulder, out of nowhere. “You are more powerful than you think you are. Let me help.”

He didn’t know what that meant. The adrenaline was _humming_ in him. But then suddenly he could see every lock, on every door. He’d transmuted two of them. One while escaping. One while entering that woman’s room.

How many rooms were there in Ward One?

_Thirty-six. I counted._

Thirty-six. Archer was pointing his gun at him. He fired – Will ducked to the ground, palms pressed together, and then slammed them to the tiled floor. The wave of alchemy vibrated through the floor, enough to startle every nurse and orderly, every janitor on the floor, into a startled yell. The bullet hit the wall behind him.

And the doors opened.

Not just the doors. All the shackles. All the cuffs. They were all the same kind of metal. Will had _known_ that. And they were all touching the floor. With chains, or attached to beds that were attached to the floor, and the beds were metal too, which meant he could do this, all at _once._

_Will, what’s –_

Something was wrong. The transmutation had worked, but something was wrong. Will looked through Selim’s eyes.

Selim was paralyzed in terror. He was looking at someone. And it took Will a moment to realize what was wrong, because he’d gotten so used to her –

Trisha Elric was standing by Selim’s bedside. “It’s okay,” she said, trying to reassure him. “I won’t hurt you.”

_“I – I –“_

“She won’t,” Will murmured. “I promise-“

_LOOK OUT!_

Archer was reaching for him, eyes savage. He dodged, but Archer’s nails scraped over his shoulder, hard enough to leave bloody scratches. “I’m not letting you go,” he seethed. “You fucking _roach._ ”

“That’s an insult to roaches!” Will shot back.

_Are you TRYING to piss him off?_

_Yes!_

The elevator was going to come back up. They’d heard the commotion – yes, there it was, almost too quiet to miss with the ruckus of the patients emerging from their rooms – and he bet Archer had missed it too, with the rage in his eyes.

He clapped his hands together. “Come and get me, fucker!”

“You think I’ll follow you down an elevator shaft?”

“Maybe!” Will jumped down onto the rising elevator, and transmuted a hole into the top, dropping through. Archer saw the hole. He jumped –

-And Will transmuted it closed with arms moving faster than he thought _possible,_ urging the alchemy to work faster. The last thing he saw was Archer’s horrified face. The elevator rose daintily, but forcefully, to the top, and between that and the force of Archer’s jump, the last thing he heard of Archer was something between a ‘crunch’ and a ‘squelch’. Better not thought about.

Seven fifty-two.

He wasn’t going to make it.

“It’s just one storey, right?”

_Yeah. I don’t – I don’t recommend it, but you have a metal leg. Should be fine._

Will carefully set the elevator to ‘down’, then transmuted a hole through the bottom, jumped, and rolled out of the way. Then he ran for it.

* * *

By the time Diana reached the parade-ground with Amue, it was clear that nothing was going as planned – and that, despite that, the Fuhrer had no intentions of acknowledging any of it. “Ah, Diana! You’ve chosen to join us.”

“We had to take a detour.”

“Shame,” he said, in a voice that implied that he really didn’t care. “I thought you might like this touch. In order to establish the grounds of our negotiations, I’ve requested that the ringleaders of the little stunt the other day attend.”

Diana looked over to where he was indicating, and her stomach roiled. Maria Ross, Joey Davidson and Georgie were all lined up in handcuffs, guards at their best. The message was clear. _Disobey me again, and you’ll be next._ It was a level of cruelty that still managed to shock her from him. “You should consider their terms,” she said instead of anything she really _wanted_ to say.

“Of course I will, of course I will. I just want it clear what the true balance of power is. I’d hate for anybody to get the wrong idea. Right, Diana?” He put an arm around her shoulder.

Diana surveyed the parade grounds. It had been closed to anybody but military – clearly Mustang had caught on to some degree that his ploy to use the media hadn’t _entirely_ worked out in his favour – and was surprisingly bare. Even Archer and Kimbley weren’t in attendance, and other faces were clearly missing. It was Mustang, Hawkeye, her, Amue, the members of the firing squad, and the punished protestors. And the firing squad –

One of them was Erik Chamond. She didn’t know what his relationship with Jareth was. Probably non-existent. She just hated that she kept recognizing people, having to do the math in her head about how she felt about them now. Twelve firing squad members.

She found herself thinking about Havoc. More and more, she understood why he’d done what he did. It was better than living through this.

Mustang checked his watch. “Ugh. Punctuality is so dull. It does look better on records, though, doesn’t it?”

“Mm.”

He leaned down. “You’re so _dull._ You really should learn when to admit you’ve lost. We’d make such a powerhouse couple ruling the country if you’d just lighten up a little.”

“Lighten up?” she repeated, trying not to bite the words.

“Think of it this way. You’ve fewer secrets to keep now. Didn’t that stress you out? Constantly having to hide your childhood, your past, in fear that somebody would stumble on the truth behind your lover?”

She closed her eyes. “Rich words from you.”

“Oh, please. The entire country has figured out that I don’t age, and given up on understanding it. I’d hardly call that a secret. They’ve accepted that I’m here to stay. Do you think any of my secrets will really destroy me?” He gave her a smile that was almost… _soft._ “That’s the trick, Diana. Don’t give anybody the power to hurt you. Let that be a lesson. All of your power went away the moment I had your loved ones in hand. That’s not power. That’s a house of cards.”

“So love is a weakness.”

“Exactly.”

“What does that make Hawkeye?”

For the first time – for the _first time –_ he saw hesitance in his eyes. She didn’t move a muscle. She didn’t want to betray that she’d seen it. Then he laughed. “Hawkeye’s no more killable than I am. And trust me, many of have tried. Besides, while you’re not the first one to assume she’s my lover, you’re incorrect. We’re close friends. That’s all.”

_You’re lying,_ Diana thought triumphantly. _You’re lying, and I’ve caught you._ And then the victory turned to ashes.

Jareth was walking out of the jailhouse, the bailiff and guards by his side. In his own clothes; they’d given him that much. He was allowed to die as himself. Sunglasses and everything, although she couldn’t imagine how he’d swung that. Leather waistcoast in fur trim, leather trousers, black shirt. His association with the Halky had never come up, but for a moment, lanky and assured, he looked every inch the mob enforcer that he’d been when they’d met. There wasn’t a hint of military left about him, and there was even a last cigarette in his fingers, hands cuffed in front of him. Of course there was.

_Don’t give anything away,_ came the automatic response. But she doubted herself a moment later. She didn’t have anything _left_ to give away. Mustang was right. All of her secrets were gone. Without her secrets, she was nothing. She’d built herself up with them, made herself strong, but it was all an illusion. Sleight of hand; if you _believed_ that she was something, then sure, she was.

Jareth looked up at her. Just for a moment – and then he looked away.

_No,_ begged some small part of her. _No, please, come back._

* * *

“He did this to you?” she asked, still looking over the lines and colors tattooed on his back. “Your – uh –“ It was too confusing. “Mordred?”

“Yeah.”

“How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

Sixteen. Jesus. “Did…” She didn’t know how to ask if he’d agreed to it. He’d been a sixteen year old boy. He hadn’t had much choice. “You haven’t said much about him. Which… I guess says a lot already. Nothing you’ve said has been good.”

“You’re asking if he forced me.”

“…Yeah.”

Jareth turned around, chewing on his lip. “I – I guess. I don’t know. He told me about it, and it wasn’t… really a question? But I could have fought him on it. It wouldn’t have gone _well,_ but it’s hard to tat somebody who won’t stay still. Especially as big as me.”

“So why didn’t you?” She tried to make it sound neutral. She wasn’t accusing him of anything. She just… wanted to know.

“I, uh… I guess I wanted to be worth something to him. It’s why I got so angry when –“ He sighed, dragging his hand down his face, clearly trying to hide that his eyes were watering. “When you found out I couldn’t read,” he finally got out.

Oh. _Oh._

She’d gotten mad, admittedly. Not because he couldn’t read – because he hadn’t told them. Even Maes hadn’t known, which said a lot about how cleverly Jareth had worked around it. And she’d only realized it when he kept skiving off studying for the entrance exam, and even mentioned that maybe she and Maes should do it, he’d just do it next year – and then she’d realized that he never _read_ things, he never wrote them _down,_ he got people to read things out for him and managed to make excuses every time –

“He never taught you.”

“Said I was too stupid for it. And I’m not. I’m getting better at it, and I guess it’s cause you’re actually taking your time with it, you and Maes, but the letters like to move around on me. And he just never bothered. So, yeah, I said yes. He didn’t tell me til after that it meant I couldn’t do alchemy.”

Diana interlaced her hand with his, trying to push her fury away so she could comfort him, but unable to quite pull it off. “I’ll kill him.”

“Good news is you don’t have to.” Jareth scrubbed at his eyes, clearly embarrassed. “Hate that prick. I don’t know. I just hope you can do something good with it, you know? I can’t. I can’t even look at it properly. Son of a bitch did that on purpose, I bet.”

Diana huffed. She didn’t need much _help_ in being determined, admittedly. But… “Listen. No matter what I do with it, you’re helping.”

“Yeah, right. They’ll probably assign us to different parts of the country.”

“So I’ll just get a high rank and demand you back.”

Jareth was blushing. And it was _cute,_ dammit. Why did they have to be related?

She pulled him into a kiss. And, thank god, he was kissing her back. So she wasn’t the only one who mostly found the brother-sister thing _really inconvenient._ His hands strayed a little south of her collarbone-

She smacked his hand, and he pulled back. “Sorry,” he said, trying to look apologetic, but the little grin on his face wasn’t helping.

“You’re a pervert.”

“Says the one kissing her brother.”

“I – _Kissing siblings is normal. I’m allowed._ ”

“I ent’ never had a sister before, but I’m fairly certain tongues ent’ involved.”

Now _she_ was turning red. “Well…” she said, thumb on his chin. “We already said we weren’t going to tell anybody. So. Who cares?”

“Do you?”

“No. Do you?”

“I know I probably should,” he admitted. “But… you’re amazing.”

* * *

It _had_ been stupid. Stupid and childish and impulsive, and it just hadn’t stopped. And now all of her love was tangled up together and –

-and did it _matter?_ Should it matter? Hawkeye had called her a whore. She already knew that. She’d always been a whore. And Jareth had loved her when she was a whore. Jareth loved her without the secrets.

_I can’t let him die._

She didn’t have a choice. She was out of options.

* * *

Will ran through the foyer of the hospital so fast that nobody even had time to stop him or notice he was covered in blood. It helped that he was in scrubs. Nurses in scrubs probably ended up covered in blood a lot.

Seven fifty-five. He wasn’t going to make it.

_Don’t be too sure,_ Selim said. _Falman says there’s protests at the main gate. Might not delay anything but… might help._

_Protests at the main gate? Okay. That helps. And now I know not to go through the main gate._

_Officer’s gate, Ridgewood._ Selim paused. _That one’s from my dad._

Will took a glance as he stopped for breath at the garage entrance. Yeah, King was in there with Pinako now. Falman too. Five minutes. He couldn’t do this in five minutes. God. He had to try. He opened the garage door.

“Hey, who are you?”

Great. More people he had to knock out. He was too lazy to do anything special, so he just picked up the garbage can lid and swung it into the man’s head, and he sunk to the floor. “I’m in a rush,” he sighed. And there was the car.

Motherfucker.

He hopped into the driver’s seat.

_No, you have to start it first._

_Where?_

_Crank at the front._

Will went to the front of the car and reached forward with his flesh hand –

_Uh, you better use the metal one,_ Selim said uneasily. Will blinked, then shrugged. His automail really was a bit janky right now, but it was still stronger. He began turning the crank in the front of the car. It was harder than he thought it’d be, but –

“WHOA!”

There was the engine. And the crank flew around with such force that if he’d been using his flesh hand, he might have broken his wrist.

_Told you,_ Selim said, just a little smugly.

_Yeah, yeah, shut up._ Will sat in the driver’s seat – _No, don’t shut up, tell me what button to push._

_Put the left pedal all the way down, and pull the left throttle._

_Th-throttle?_

_The thing on the wheel. The left one._

Will pulled it, and felt the engine start to do… something else. _Okay. And now?_

_Pull the right one. And then ease off on the pedal. Slowly, slowly!_

The car started to move. Slowly.

“Selim, how the FUCK am I going to get there in five minutes??”

“ _I don’t… know. Pinako said it’d be fine, I’m sorry-“_

Pinako came into view, looking contrite. “The hospital clocks are slow. Sorry. I deliberately didn’t tell. You’ve still got ten minutes.”

_“But…I… you… you told us… I…”_

“I would have told you, Selim, dear, but you can’t lie to Will like this, and with both of you on drugs, you wouldn’t have believed me if I told you that there’d _definitely_ be trouble on the way. Now, change gears and see if you can get it up to the top speed, a bit at a time…”

“Piiiiinaaaaakoooooo….” Will growled into the steering wheel. She was _right,_ of course. He was still going to kill her. Or kiss her out of gratitude. Or both. Both sounded great. “I _still_ would have preferred a fucking horse.”

* * *

He was allowed to enjoy his final cigarette. And you know what? He was going to. He didn’t give a shit anymore. Chamond held out the lighter, and he murmured, “Thanks.” It was a shame. He’d actually _liked_ Chamond – well, he’d had some criticisms of his work, but that was him and most people on security.

“No problem.” Chamond flicked the lighter closed. Then he gave Jareth a look. “I got a message for you.”

“What, the bullets ain’t enough?”

Chamond leaned forward, just a little. “From King Bradley.”

He slipped the lighter into Jareth’s breast pocket, in with his dice.

It was a nice thought, Jareth sighed. He could be buried with it. Although… he frowned. A lighter wasn’t a bad thing to have _anyway._ And he didn’t know Major Bradley. The two of them had only really interacted once. So from King Bradley really meant from Selim, didn’t it?

Which-

_Secrets._

Which meant from Will.

_Stop it,_ he told himself. It was a lighter, as a gift, because he liked to smoke. The array on his back was practically useless. He couldn’t modulate it, because he had almost no practice with it. Sure, he could make fire that melted bullets, if he wanted to melt his own face off. If he was going to die, the fusillade sounded preferable, honestly. And besides, then what? Kill the Fuhrer? Get put on trial _again,_ or just get shot dead on the spot? It was too little, too late. Even if he escaped…

He took a deep puff of his cigarette, leaning against the bare limestone wall. “Do I get last words?”

“Your last speech on the stand wasn’t enough?” the Fuhrer shot back, smirking.

“Aw, come on, Roy.” He grinned at the look on the man’s face. Nobody disrespected the Fuhrer and lived. But he wasn’t gonna live anyway. “We’re away from the big crowds. Everybody here knows the truth. You can relax.” He took another puff of his cigarette.

“I’m very curious about your definition of _relax,_ Valjean.”

“Curious, huh?” Jareth flicked some ash off of his cigarette. “If you want to suck my dick so bad, you could have just asked.”

Mustang was harder to rattle than that. He kept his face still, but then very carefully put his hand on Diana’s shoulder, stroking her neck. A smile spread over his face, and Jareth struggled not to snap the cigarette in two.

The worst part, really, was that he _knew_ Diana didn’t like him. He could see it in her face even now – repressed revulsion mixed with fear. He’d never seen Diana so afraid of somebody before. He understood, sort of. Logically, he understood. He just wanted Diana to love him more than she feared the Fuhrer.

_What would you do in her place?_ he asked himself.

Well, that was easy. He’d drag himself out of Hell itself to save her life or die trying. But that was easy enough to say when your life wasn’t worth that much. Who was gonna miss a sniper with a bad attitude?

Being hard on himself was easy. It would have been easier if Georgie wasn’t right there.

He finished the cigarette. “I don’t got any last words except this. _C_ _ītg_ _ēi s_ _óengb_ _áa b_ _át ni̖ns_ _ēoi._ ”

It was worth it for the look on Diana’s face.

Chamond tied his hands behind his back, and the blindfold around his eyes. He exhaled.

_Remember the scars, not the years._

He didn’t know enough Xingese to say what he really wanted to say. But his words were for her, not anybody else. She knew what it really meant.

_Don’t forget me._

* * *

_Remember his scars, not his years._

Will unconscious on the bed, freshly arrived in Central, already a concern, already somebody she knew she’d have to look out for.

_Remember the scars, not the years._

A man she’d loved, begging for his life on his knees – “Faa Bin, please, I thought – I thought-“

_Remember the scars, not the years._

Will, choking, under her hands, because she’d forgotten where she was, and Mustang, laughing, _laughing._

_Remember your scars, not your years._

Hohenheim, too old at the time already, too old to have then gone on to have a family somewhere, kids half her age again, treating her like a kid without treating her like a child. Hands in her hair, and saying, “It must be hard. Feeling like you have to look after yourself and your mother too.”

_Remember your scars, not your years._

Jareth standing in the doorway of the underground city, staggering, barely alive, but with the lighter in front of him.

_Remember the scars._

“Order 3066.”

_Remember me._

Heathcliff Erbe, and so many kids just like him, dead in the streets, in the churches, in the rivers, in the cellars. She’d known him. They’d been friends. Isaac had tried to comfort her. She’d just frozen herself solid.

_C_ _ītg_ _ēi s_ _óengb_ _áa b_ _át ni̖ns_ _ēoi._

“Divided loyalties, Diana.”

Mongrel. Mixed blood.

She’d never been one of them. Never. _NEVER._ Jareth hadn’t either. The two of them against the world. Always.

_C_ _ītg_ _ēi s_ _óengb_ _áa b_ _át ni̖ns_ _ēoi._

Martel, Dorochet, Law, Bido – all four of them dragged off to execution, with her trying to pretend it didn’t hurt, her scratching holes in her shoulders later that night, hating herself for saving her own skin and pretending she’d known nothing about it. She’d survived. Survived for what?

_C_ _ītg_ _ēi s_ _óengb_ _áa b_ _át ni̖ns_ _ēoi._

Empress Diana, huh?

Empress of an empty wasteland.

Mustang lifted his hand. “And…”

Everything slowed down. There was a coward’s route, and there was a fool’s route, and there was the safe route.

She chose none of them.

“Fire.”

She snapped her fingers, and her boots had hit the ground running before she even realized it.

The bullets hit a wall of blue flame, burning so hot it was almost white, melting the asphalt below it into tar. What was left of them ran through – and hit the cold air behind, slag solidifying instantly and dropping to the ground.

She wasn’t just a flame alchemist. She controlled the _air._

“You want him?” she called out. “You go through me.”

She reached behind her and tore off the blindfold.

“Diana?” Jareth asked incredulously. “What the fuck are you _doing?”_

“What I always do. Get your ass out of trouble.”

“But –“

“ _Run!_ ”

The inferno in front of them was too hot to last for long with nothing to feed on. It died down fast – and she snapped again, orange-red flames filling the parade ground. She could keep the heat away from them, but not completely. Not while trying to run.

“Fire!”

These bullets weren’t going to melt. She dodged, pulling Jareth down with her, and stumbled away. The tar in the asphalt was starting to catch fire. She’d been worried about that. It was supposed to have an ignition point higher than that, but she’d done a test on it a few years back before they’d been transferred East and warned the upper brass that the material was shoddy. Apparently they hadn’t fixed it. Who was going to set their parade grounds on _fire?_

“Okay. Okay, so, there’s a plan, right?” Jareth panted, trying to catch his breath. He wriggled, trying to get out of the rope tying his hands. “Tell me there’s a plan.”

“Yeah. Course. I always have a plan.”

“…Di?”

“Promise!”

The fire was spreading. She could control _some_ of it. Not all of it. Not on her own. “Jareth, you have to help.”

“I can’t do _shit._ I can make fires. That’s about it.”

“You have the array, you can –“

“I can’t! I can’t do alchemy!”

“It’s the same array, I _promise._ ”

Fire on one side. On the other, the members of the firing squad were closing in. And Mustang –

A chill went down Diana’s spine, and she started struggling with the knots on Jareth’s wrists. “Shit, shit, shit. Where’s Mustang? Do you see him?”

“No. Why? Isn’t he gonna let Hawkeye do all the work for him?”

Diana shook her head. Not all of the sweating was from the flames, now. She was used to fire. “He’s – god, fuck. There’s a reason I’m scared of him, Jareth, and we got _lucky_ before, we can’t pull that off again-“

“There’s a we now?”

“Not the time!”

Through the crackle of the flames, there was a low, ominous growl. More crackling.

The firing squad was aiming at them. Jareth yanked her out of the way, backed up –

The figure came out of the flames with no warning, a monstrous silhouette emerging from the inferno all at once, like something out of a nightmare. He landed just in front of her, knocking her to the ground with the force of his impact on the asphalt. The ground shattered under his feet, and Diana shielded her face, staring up at it with her heart in her mouth.

Greed stared down at her with red eyes and a tusked, horrendous mouth. She pulled the gun from the back of her uniform –

“Oh, Diana,” it growled with a gravelly, twisted version of Mustang’s voice. “You thought I didn’t see that. You never _quite_ gave up hope, did you?”

She fired. The bullet bounced off his chest, and he brought a clawed hand down on her, fingers pinning her throat, useless gun falling out of her hand.

“I was foolish,” he growled. “I didn’t think you’d use the fire trick on Lust instead of the Beast. But I would never, _never_ give you a weapon that would work against me.” Then his mouth contorted itself into a smile, fangs reflecting her own inferno back at her. “It’s _cute,_ though. It’s a shame. This is the very stubbornness that makes you so _attractive_ to me.”

“Leave her alone!”

Greed raised his eyes to Jareth, who was standing determinedly in front of him, holding –

A lighter.

“Oh, how scary. A _little_ fire.”

Jareth didn’t back down. “You know I’m the one who killed Lust. Aren’t you curious how?”

“I am. But I don’t see any gloves.”

“I don’t need them.”

Jareth flicked the lighter. A new explosion went up behind Greed.

“I’ve already told you, I’m fireproof,” he growled. “And _you…_ just won’t die, will you?” He threw Diana to the side, advancing on Jareth. She clung to the asphalt, then hissed as her palms began to burn. The gloves were still fine – the arrays were intact, but she couldn’t handle the heat much longer.

Jareth backed up, and backed up – and then, he threw the lighter to the side, and clicked his fingers. He didn’t have to. Diana knew that. It was…

She laughed weakly. It was _habit._ The gesture comforted him.

And instead of the fire getting stronger, it began to recede. Not all of it. If she couldn’t do it alone, he certainly couldn’t. She activated her array, exhaling and trying to help him. The others were coming into view. Ross, Davidson and Georgie, backed against the wall and away from the inferno, with Chamond helping them. Others running for their lives. Hawkeye, ready to make the shot on Jareth.

“Oh no you don’t, bitch.”

She snapped her fingers again. Hawkeye went up in flames with a shriek. Diana had mostly known – but the burnt corpse that fell to the ground almost fooled her for a moment, before the red sparks began to regenerate her.

They needed a way out. They were trapped between two unkillable monsters.

“GET OUT OF THE WAY!”

A car smashed through the closed gate at the _other_ end of the parade grounds, and came soaring through the remnants of the inferno, grinding to an _incredibly_ amateurish stop in the center of everything. And at the wheel was –

Diana was so relieved she began to _laugh._ She didn’t know if Will had done half the transmuting while driving, or if he’d somehow escaped the hospital like that. But the person who stepped out of the car had a shock of short blue hair, a black miniskirt and a crop top.

“Hey! Asshole!”

It said a lot that Mustang responded to it, really. But his head turned, and he let out another monstrous growl when he saw Will.

“Come and get me!” He launched himself at Greed –

“Will, _no,_ ” she pleaded –

-and slid right under Greed’s arm, grabbing Jareth. “Time to go!” He shoved Jareth towards the car, and then swung an arm at Greed, getting his attention. “Come on, you fuck! Kill me yourself this time!”

Jareth came towards her, hauling her up off the ground. “What is he doing?” she asked in concern.

“Buying us time. Come on.”

“But –“

“He’s not stupid, Di – he’s faster than we are.” He got her towards the car. “You can drive better than me. And…” He glanced at the other four. “We can’t leave them here.”

“We can’t. Go get ‘em.”

He paused. “You’re not gonna leave without me.”

“Never.”

He ran over to Georgie and the others.

Will was still feinting at Greed, avoiding his hits with a level of skill that she was practically jealous of. God, he was good. And –

And he’d come to _save_ them.

He flipped hand over head…

…and she saw it. His automail twitched. He fell, and for a moment, he was a kid again, _tiny_ against the impenetrable armour Greed was covered in. Hawkeye protecting him from assassination attempts, the nearly-weak front he put up. It was all a front. He was a tank. They could swing at him forever and he wouldn’t cave.

…Depending what they hit him with.

Will clearly didn’t know how to drive. It was a wonder he hadn’t stripped the damn gears. But _she –_ she knew how to drive.

“You remind me of someone I don’t like,” Mustang growled at Will. “And I can’t do anything to him. But _you –_ you I’ll take apart. Teach you some respect.”

Will’s bravery had fled. Diana could see his face as she ratcheted up, gear after gear – God. She’d thought _she_ was afraid of Mustang. _What did Mustang do to him?_ she thought, and furious bile filled her mouth as she remembered Mustang’s threat.

She snapped her fingers and set some of the gas on fire. Not much. A tiny, very controlled amount. Basically a tiny explosion in the tailpipe.

The car flung itself forward and straight into Mustang. And – bless the Model T – it landed on all four wheels with a clatter and a bump, mostly unharmed, while Mustang flew across the parade grounds. That was the nice thing about an unbreakable shield. It also meant he clearly didn’t _absorb_ any impact.

Will scrambled to his feet, but not fast enough for her liking – she leaned out of the door and grabbed him, yanking him into the car and squeezing him to her side.

“You’re _smothering_ me,” he complained.

“Never, _never_ do that again.”

“Which part?” he whined. “Saving your ass, or almost kicking the Fuhrer’s ass? I had him on the ropes.”

“Yes, dear.”

Jareth grabbed the bar of the front seat as she drove past, grabbing Georgie and Davidson’s hands as they ran by. “Chamond and Ross aren’t coming. Ross escaped out the gate and mingled with the protestors,” he said as he climbed into the front seat, pressing Will between the two of them.

“And Chamond?”

“Says he’ll buy us time.”

Diana gave him a worried glance – he just shook his head. “Okay, which way now?”

Will pointed the way he’d come – then hesitated. “Shit.” Hawkeye and a new squadron of soldiers had gathered there. “Okay, main gates.”

“The protestors are there.”

“So we beep the horn real loud.”

“We can’t do that!” Then Diana paused. “Wait. Can we?”

“I mean, sure. And they’ll get at each other, give us cover.” Will grinned. “Just one of ya stick your faces out the window.”

“Bloody hell,” Jareth groaned. “You sure none of _them_ are gonna shoot us?”

“Don’t worry! I’ll protect you.”

“Okay, main gates it is,” Diana interrupted. “Stop flirting and focus. Which direction?”

“East.”

“We’re _not_ going to Rizenbul.”

“We’re not! Just head East and trust me.”

“…Fine.” Diana flicked the gas throttle.

“Can’t this car go any faster?” Will hissed in concern, looking behind them.

“There’s five of us in here. Short of chucking one of you out-“

“Oh! I have an idea!”

The main gates were open – Diana saw Chamond give her a salute as they drove past. Will clambered over Jareth’s lap and leaned out over the hood. “Diana!” he called out over the hood. “What kind of fuel is this!”

“What?”

“What kind of fuel?”

“How should I know? Let me drive!”

The protestors were gathered pretty thickly around the gates, but when Diana slammed her fist on the horn, they moved aside – and gasped when they recognized the people in the car. Will in particular gave a cheeky wave – then slammed his hands on the hood, alchemy sparks flickering over the hood.

“Will,” Jareth asked nervously, “What did you just do?”

There was an evil cackle from the front.

“You know what? Forget I asked – _whoa!_ ” They hit a rock on the road and wobbled dangerously, and Jareth grabbed Will’s hips to stabilize him. “Get your ass back in here. You’re not dying to a car accident _now._ ” He yanked him back in and onto his lap.

“How cozy,” Will drawled.

“I almost _died._ ”

“Will, what did you do?”

“Throw the throttle now-“

Diana did – and the car started speeding up. Really, _really_ fast. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Cars weren’t supposed to go this fast. “Will. Will, Will, Will-“

“I just got out of the madhouse! What did you expect?”

“FUCK!”

She managed to take the turn. Hopefully she didn’t hit anybody on the way out of Central. She could hear other cars behind her, but she was leaving them way behind. There were sirens going. Out of Central. East.

“I purified the fuel so it would burn more efficiently!” yelled Will over the noise of the engine. “Great, huh!”

“You’re insane!” Jareth shot back. Then he looked back at Georgie and Davidson. “You two okay?”

“I’m fine!” Georgie gave a thumbs up.

“Kill me,” Davidson moaned.

Will was _still_ laughing. He really was mad. Then again, Diana thought, so was she.

She’d just burned her career down. She’d attacked the Fuhrer. She’d melted bullets mid-air, and given up ten years of her life, because in the end – the pain hadn’t been worth it. Not worth what she had lost. Not worth what she was about to lose.

There was no going back now. They were enemies of the state, terrorists, possibly the most wanted people in the country short of the Beast himself. She’d tried taking it down from the inside, and it had made her a monster instead.

So screw it.

Time to burn it all down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND THAT’S ALL FOR NOW
> 
> LSNA will return with Enemy of the Nation once I have had time to rest my brain and my fingers!
> 
> Cītgēi sóengbáa bát ni̖nsēoi is admittedly probably… not good Cantonese. The characters used are here if anybody would like to fully criticize, lol. 切记 年岁 不 伤疤
> 
> Yes, this was always the plan. Not always in the specifics; but this being the outcome of Jareth’s trial was a known thing since very early on in HOTP! So it’s been EXHILARATING actually writing it out.
> 
> The Model T really is that much of a pain in the ass to drive. I researched it and holy shit the gas REALLY IS on the wheel. Also, their top speed at the time was about 35 miles per hour, to contextualize the end.
> 
> The intersex condition that Amue and Strongine have is a real condition called Late-Onset Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia. There will be more details about the medication they take since it’s not quite the same as modern meds; keep in mind the time period, but it will DEFINITELY be coming back up.


End file.
